


Tom Riddle and His Damn Luck

by ColdEmergency



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Broken timeline, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Death (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Distrust, F/M, Harry Potter Being an Idiot, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry and The Dark Lord Harry are two separate beings, Harry in this timeline is the Dark Lord Mordancy, Horcruxes, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, M/M, Master of Death (Harry Potter), OC's - Freeform, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Seer Luna Lovegood, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tom Riddle Being an Asshole, Tom Riddle is the Boy-Who-Lived, alternative universe, dark themes, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdEmergency/pseuds/ColdEmergency
Summary: Tom Riddle Jr. is the boy who lived. Orphaned by a crazed Dark Lord, and living with his nasty muggle grandparents. He fights for his place in this world while trying desperately to hide from a megalomaniac who wants nothing more than for Tom to cease breathing. On his way to class, Tom encounters a magical phenomenon, one which results in him meeting a disoriented young man who claims to be Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Why can’t Tom just have one normal year? Just one.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 141
Kudos: 248





	1. You must have hit your head Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe, I do not take credit or ownership of any of the characters and universe. I do not make money off of these stories. All belongs to J.K Rowling and the Warner Bro Company. I'm just here for a good time.
> 
> I don't have a beta, I don't even know if this is any good. I'm just living my best life. Essentially, Tom's and Harry's roles have been reversed. Ye ole switcheroo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 11/07/2020
> 
> Enjoy!

The castle was exceptionally chilly today, which was odd because the weather was beautiful. Tom enjoyed the warmth, he would take moments to bask in the sunlight. He envisioned it soaking through his skin, and lighting the pyre of his soul. Of course, he couldn’t allow anyone to know, because he, Tom Riddle, was cold. He was a statue of perfection. The golden boy, _faultless._

He perfected his mask in the first year, after finding out who he was. After finding out he was a target. This meant he was alone, he was the only one he could trust. Not Headmaster Dumbledore, not his head of house Professor Snape. He couldn’t even trust the other twelve-year-old children who shared his living space in the Slytherin common rooms. Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle. All were enemies. Especially the Slytherins.

Tom walked through the dungeons quickly, quietly. He imagined himself a snake, dark scales and nestled into the cracks, invisible. It was too early to go to breakfast, he found out in the first year that the professors thought it odd when young children showed up before the sun had begun to rise. He had always been an early riser, it wasn’t something he could help.

_It wasn’t his fault, they couldn’t blame him._

Instead, he padded his way to where the stairs moved, intent on stealing away in the hidden cove on the second floor. It wasn’t the best of hiding spots, but he had found it in the first year when trying to dodge the group of fifth-year Slytherins who heckled him relentlessly. They never found him here, and that was good enough for him. It was a horrible realization, to find out he had this whole world of magic, all for him, and then to discover that more than a handful of people absolutely abhor him for existing. As if his being was disgusting, that he was wrong to be here.

First, it was the infamous Dark Lord Mordancy, which was a quite fitting name in Tom’s opinion. Cruel, cold, harsh. Tom didn’t enjoy comparing himself to the man that killed his only living parent, but he did, and often. He too was cold, at times harsh. Only ever cruel when it benefited him.

_All children could be cruel, he wasn’t broken._

The evil wizard was a Gryffindor when he was in Hogwarts fifty years or so ago. The headmaster tried desperately to re-brand the house, insisting that it still housed the brave. Most adults who defend Gryffindor often refer to Mordancy as a snake in a lion's clothing. It only brought more hate to the snakes' den, however. They were already seen as evil, and after that, they were seen to be the true house of the Dark Lord. The house he was meant to be in. Some posited that he must have tricked the sorting hat, there were rumors of him being that powerful.

Tom may think himself smart, a prodigy, but even he knows that no eleven years old could trick that hat. It sees into your soul, that hat literally sorts through your thoughts, picking out your strongest attributes. Defining you by how you would respond in certain predicaments. You cannot trick something like that with magic.

No, Tom believed with all his being that Mordancy was a Gryffindor at heart. The hat saw something in him that showed true courage, bravery. Unrelenting nerve, and a sense of standing up for one's beliefs. Something must have gone wrong though. Tom has seen muggles become unhinged. He has seen horrors no child should witness. He knows how sick one's mind can get, he was almost there.

The big difference was that Tom believed he was born broken, thus had the ability to grow and adapt. Mordancy broke along the way to greatness. Something fundamentally important left that man and created a shell of who he was probably supposed to be. Tom pitied him. Tom pitied the Dark Lord. How sad that is, to have the child you tried to destroy pity you instead of hate you or even fear you. Tom didn’t fear anything except the end. Death was his source of panic, the thought of nothingness. The thought of being as great as he can be, and then it all being destroyed and wasted because of mortality.

_Death was Tom's enemy. Not Mordancy. Not Dumbledore._

The second group of people to despise Tom was his own house. The Slytherins. A house of snakes, the worst kind. They speak of great leadership, cunning, ambition. The Slytherins Tom knew were all nothing but bullies. They didn’t have an end goal to their torment, there was nothing for them to win with Tom’s fall. He was nothing. Yet they always took from him.

At least Tom had reasons for hurting others, he had plans. He gained information, he used it to make his life easier. He was going to use it to better himself in society. He was the only true Slytherin in the dungeons. It made him sick. If he had known what laid ahead of him, Tom would have fought the hat for Ravenclaw. His thirst for knowledge, regardless of the reason to use said knowledge as blackmail, was still a thirst.

Tom hadn’t realized how long his musings had gotten, he was often lost in his head these days. The light was coming up over the Scottish mountains, and most students would be making their way to the Great Hall. Steeling himself against the stone wall he leaned against, he composed himself before forcing himself into the hallway. There were still no signs of other students, yet Tom remained behind his mask.

He could go so long without letting it slip. He traversed down the corridor, thinking of potions, and having to deal with Granger and her know-it-all attitude. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, a light so yellow flashed through the hallway.

He instinctively dodged out of the way, but there was nothing to dodge. There was no spell thrown. There was only light. The yellow flared down the corridor then paused suddenly. As if it were a living creature. It pulsed like a heart, and Tom was enthralled. He cautiously approached the light. He didn’t get even ten feet before the light flinched harshly. 

Tom threw up a shield out of habit, muttering protego under his breath, putting himself into a defensive position. He held his wand out, ready to do something, anything. He held his breath. The light pulsed again then exploded into white. The shock wave of magic pushed Tom and shattered his shield.

The magic, however, didn’t seem to touch Tom himself and instead flew past him, as if he were but a ghost. In its wake, the light dimmed drastically, disappearing. Leaving a dark figure instead. A body. Tom felt ill. Nothing about this was alright, nothing about this was favorable. They wouldn't believe him.

_He was always blamed._

His hand was shaking, and he forced it to stop. He would not break. He couldn’t. Not now. Not here. Tom gritted his teeth and stalked towards the body. He was careful not to get too close. The figure was lying curled up on its side, back to Tom. They were wearing Hogwarts robes.

Tom started around, intent on seeing who it was, but before he could make it to the other side the figure made a horribly ugly sound, between gasping and choking. They sat straight up abruptly, it would have been comical, had Tom not screeched. He immediately held his wand up. He did not like being startled.

“Who are you?” He demanded, thankful his voice didn’t waver. The sound of his voice caused the other to start, he flinched, much as the light did. Green looked up, and Tom watched in fascination as the boy went from recognition to shock, and then to immediate rage.

“What the hell Tom? What did you do?” He started to stand up, looking around as if the shadows would jump out at him. He focused on Tom again, now really taking the other boy in. “Stop pointing your wand at me, Tom.” The boy glared at him suspiciously. “This isn’t funny. Bring me back.” he crossed his arms, much like a child, pouting for not getting his way. Tom didn't find it cute.

“I have no idea as to what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything.” His only response was an expression of disbelief and lifted arms, gesturing to the corridor. Tom responded by raising his eyebrow. The other kid, a Gryffindor, dropped his arms and glared back at the taller teen. 

“You brought me into your diary, you- you sucked me in like a genie in a bottle!” The other quickly turned red in the face, “You did something, you know you did. I wanted to know about the Chamber Of Secrets and you said you’d show me what you knew. This isn’t what I thought was going to happen!” The boy seethed, pointing his thin finger at Tom, mirroring him and his own wand. Tom stopped being amused at the mention of the Chambers. That was something not many people talked about, not a lot of people remembered it.

It was like a myth, an old wives’ tale that most had never even heard of. He lowered his wand.

“I don’t know anything about the Chambers. Only what's written about it in old history books.” Tom smoothly retorted, further on the defense. Even if he did know, he wouldn’t be talking about it with an unknown Gryffindor. Speaking of... “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here,” He purposefully eyed the other head to toe, and back again, making him squirm, “I’m extremely good at remembering faces, it’s quite ridiculous really.” The other rolled his eyes, Tom ignored that. “You know my name, which is only a given because of who I am, but who are you?”

“I’m Harry,” he cleared his throat, “Harry Potter. I already told you that, in the- the diary.” That was the other thing that made Tom’s skin crawl, how did he know about his diary? The other seemed to lose himself momentarily. “I need to get back, _oh Merlin_. Tom, I have to get back,” his voice got shrill, it annoyed Tom. “Please Tom, people are getting hurt, I have to help them. I have to. Send me back!” He reached out for Tom’s arm, but Tom was faster and took a step back, he stared the other in the eyes and spoke through a clenched jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was getting sick of this, he wasn’t good with emotions. He wasn’t good with emotional people. 

“Please, I need you to undo this.” He sobbed now, Harry wasn’t listening to Tom. “If you can’t we need to talk to Headmaster Dumbledore.” Harry reached up and pulled at the skin on his lip, yeah, Dumbledore would know what to do. He always seemed to know. He looked back up to Tom, more resolved. “I’m sure he’ll know what to do if we just tell him who I am, about the Chamber. About everything. I have to get back, because I’m the boy who lived, and this Dark-” Tom snarled viciously, advancing towards the other. 

"I’m the boy who lived,” he shoved Harry hard, almost knocking the other over completely “don’t you dare try to take that away from me too.” His fists were clenched and he continued to advance, forcing the other to walk backward with every step. Harry Potter felt very much like a mouse at that moment. His heart was trying to jump out of his chest, and he thought that at any moment Tom would really snap. He didn’t know what was going on. Before Harry could rectify whatever just transpired, he heard the best thing that one could hear in this situation. Dumbledore.

“I think that's enough Tom, don’t you?” Both boys turn to the sound of the old man's rasping, Dumbledore smiled, his eyes trained on Tom’s wand. It had slipped out of his sleeve at some point and rested in his hand. Tom flushed but took a step away from Harry. He was embarrassed. No, he was infuriated. How dare Dumbledore to interfere, and how dare Harry to try to steal his title. It was all he had. Tom stood up straight and put his mask on. He couldn’t lose it right now, not here, not in front of him.

Harry, however, could not have been happier. Dumbledore meant safety, he meant home. Trust. He sighed loudly, thanking Merlin for his insane luck. Dumbledore turned to Harry and took him in full, his smile immediately left his face. He looked a hundred years older than he was, every wrinkle on his face deepens. The color in his rosy cheeks dimmed, and the twinkle in his eye was gone.  
  
“Harry?” The Headmaster whispered. He was still. Harry’s heart started again.

“Uh yes? Yeah. It’s me.” He reached up to scratch at his head. His hair was a mess as usual. His actions were followed by Dumbledore as if he was a bomb about to explode. “I don’t really know what's going on-” He stopped himself and looked at Tom, then back at Dumbledore. “I think- I think something is very wrong sir.” Dumbledore searched his face, looking for something not found on the surface. It stripped Harry bare, he began shifting foot to foot.

“I agree, Harry. I agree."


	2. I think you’re a liar Harry Potter

Harry sat in one of the chairs in the Headmasters office. He sat very still and kept his eyes to the ground. Dumbledore was sitting in his seat, less hostile than in the corridor, but still eyeing Harry. It was tense. Tom was in the seat next to Harry, looking extremely bored. Harry thinks Tom is a right prat. Tom thinks Harry is a problem. Just one big problem and he doesn’t like problems.

“Lemon drops?” Albus’ voice cut the silence so suddenly, Harry flinched in his spot, Tom was beginning to think it was something he would have to get used to. The old wizard motioned with his hand to a bowl full of the yellow candies. Tom didn’t dignify his question with a response, if the old coot wanted to play house he could go right ahead. Harry declined politely. Tom felt the word golden boy surface in his mind unwillingly.

“No thank you, sir…” The raven-haired boy played with his sleeve, mustering up his courage. He looked up, making eye contact with the Headmaster. “I don’t know- Have I done something sir?” He took a large breath in, Tom thought he was going to start sobbing again. It was hilariously dreadful. “Because I feel like I’ve done something wrong, and I have no idea what it was.”

“You’ve done a great deal of wrong Harry,” Dumbledore stated. No warmth in his voice. He stared at the boy for a moment longer before signing. He sounded tired, old. Harry didn’t like this version of Dumbledore. “Or you will,” he relented “when you’re older perhaps.” He’s absolutely lost it. It’s finally happened. Tom couldn’t believe the crap he was listening to. What the hell was going on. “Harry, what does the name Mordancy mean to you?” Silence followed. Tom glanced over at Harry, and he would have laughed aloud at the sight of his face had this not been a serious question. Harry had such a look of concentration mixed with confusion, his eyes told all, however.

“I have no idea, sir,” he said slowly. “Should I? Is it a spell?” Tom couldn’t believe this. Everyone knew his name, wizards in Europe knew it. Every magical child in the last thirty years heard his name, he was the boogeyman. 

“You’re lying,” Tom stated. Turning fully to face Harry now. The other teen looked back at him shocked, his expression almost hurt? “I think you’re a liar Harry.” Harry didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, I think you’re a complete twat- ”

“ Boys.” Dumbledore’s voice cut through. Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment. Tom wanted to keep riling Harry up. It was too easy. He couldn’t do it with Dumbledore around though.

“I’m only stating the truth Headmaster, no wizard on the face of this earth could have missed that name.” He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs. “So he’s lying.”

“I’m not lying! I swear I have no idea who you’re talking about. ” Harry faced the Headmaster “Please sir, you have to believe me, you’ve always believed me! You did when I told you about the philosopher's stone,” He couldn’t stop now, it was like a gate had opened and he could no longer hold anything back. “You believed me then. I’m not bad, I’m not the heir of Slytherin. I’m trying to stop the attacks, Tom was going to show me-”

“Oh don’t rope me into the Chamber stuff-”

“Shut up- Then I got sucked into the diary-”

“Don’t tell me to shut up Potter, I’ll-”

“You’re a right git, and this is all your fault. If you’d jus-”

“I didn’t do anything !” Tom stood up. He was at his wit's end. “ I’m tired of being blamed for things .” He hissed. Not realizing he’d slipped into parseltongue.

“ Well, I’m tired of not knowing what the bloody hell is going on! No one tells me anything! ” Harry spat back, both boys were standing up now. They were both breathing hard, looking ready to forgo magic, and just slap each other silly instead. Tom’s features went lax again, and he gazed at the other. Harry was seriously going to get whiplash with these mood swings.

“How can you speak parseltongue?” Harry’s face immediately took on a constipated look. It seemed Harry was a true Gryffindor at heart, couldn’t hide anything. It was both entertaining and also frustrating to Tom. He could tell that Harry Potter was completely clueless. It was maddening. Harry was about to respond with a very eloquent ‘huh?’ when Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly. Instead of being mad, however, he seemed to be trying to hide a smile. He found this funny. Tom realized. The Headmaster enjoyed their bickering. 

“I’m thinking… That I may have this all wrong.” He stroked his white beard thoughtfully. “I believe I owe you an apology, Harry.” It was Tom's turn to look constipated, and Harry couldn't even appreciate it because he was just as surprised. The Headmaster motioned for them both to sit. They did.

“Oh- Um. Thanks. It’s alright, I guess.” He murmured sheepishly, rubbing the side of his head. He didn’t realize the bump he had until now. He winced at the contact and dropped his arm, looking back up to the Headmaster. “I think I time-traveled sir.” Dumbledore hummed, then he nodded at Harry to continue. “This is going to sound insane, but I wrote in a diary,” Tom stiffened at the mention of it. “It wrote back to me sir and told me it was Tom Riddle. I asked him-by writing in the diary you see- the ink… I’m not sure how it worked actually. I guess magic huh?”

Tom Riddle believed Harry Potter was a huge problem and a massive idiot. He rolled his eyes so hard, he got a glimpse at his brain.

”Well I asked him if he knew about the Chamber of Secrets, he said yeah-” Tom scoffed, had he been communicating with someone through his journal he would never have replied with ‘yeah’. Harry shot a glare in Tom’s direction but continued. “He said ‘ yeah’, and then when I asked if he could tell me about it he said no. He wrote that he could show me though. I was confused. He wrote underneath that, something- oh, yeah, he said he’d take me back 50 years.” The way Harry told stories made Tom want to grab him by his neck and just wring it. “Then I got sucked into the diary, like..” Harry tried to explain the event with his hands but ended up making a swimming motion. “I hit the ground super hard, and then when I sat up, Tom was there.”

“Stop saying my name so casually, it's disconcerting. We aren’t friends.” Harry’s face took on a thoughtful look before he nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders.

“No, I think I’ll stick with Tom. I like it.” His left eye twitched, and he felt a spell on the tip of his tongue. He knew some of the unforgivables. He hadn’t tried them on people yet, but Harry sure seemed like he wanted to volunteer his skin. Tom wouldn't mind. He wondered what his screams would-

“Harry, would you please tell me what year you were born?” Tom kept forgetting Dumbledore was there. This was absolute hell.

“Oh, yup. Yeah. I was born July 31st, 1980- so that would make this time 1940 something right?” Tom was surprised Harry’s brain was able to do even simple math. Dumbledore looked over at Tom briefly, a knowing look, before leaning forward on his desk. He entwined his fingers and gazed at Harry again.

“No Harry, my boy. It is currently 1992.” 

“But the diary sir-” Harry started, this wasn’t right.

“Yes, yes.” Albus nodded solemnly. “I believe that diary meant to take you into the past. It must have been a very powerful artifact.” He pointedly looked over at Tom. The teen felt himself sink into the chair a bit. His whole life, he had never been able to make Dumbledore believe him in anything. Every wrongdoing was seen with distrust, and for some reason, Dumbledore always zeroed in on him. Just because he was right most of the time, didn’t give him a right to blame everything else on Tom. Tom was by no means an angel. He did things, said things. Caused things to happen, sometimes with only just his thoughts. Even if he couldn’t prove it, Dumbledore always knew. It was frustrating, irritating.

“Something must have gone wrong, however. Instead of being brought to your past, you’ve been brought to us. I believe I have heard of world-hopping before.” Both Harry and Tom were about to protest but were stopped by the Headmasters' hand. A simple but sharp raise. “Now, now boys. I’d let you speak, but you two show your age.”

Not that Albus minded all that terribly. He had never seen Tom engage with another student like this. Tom was quiet, far from shy. He was the type of child that forgo talking, instead of listening to gather information. It reminded him of Gellert. That man would have been a Slytherin through and through. Tom, however, was indeed Slytherin. His being frightened Albus. He was but a child, yet he held darkness in his heart that had been there since the day he was born. Albus remembered holding Tom as a babe after the attack was made on Riddle Manor. The child didn’t cry. He barely moved. But his eyes, they were watching. Calculating. Albus knew this child was meant for great things, he could only hope they were great in the right ways.

“Harry,” the smaller of the two teens gave Dumbledore his utmost attention, it was odd having him back in this office. The last time he had been face-to-face with Harry, their Harry, he had been begging for the DADA position. But he had become something Albus didn’t recognize. The fire in his eyes had dulled, and he looked ill. Harry had always been a small child, lanky. But he was bordering on emaciated. His movements then had been jerky, and Albus regrets every day that he had not forced the young man into St. Mungos. Instead, he had declined Harry. Sent him away. Mordancy had come back in his place. “When you two were in the corridor, you claimed to also be the boy who lived. What does this title mean to you? I’m intrigued to know how you were given it.” 

As irked as Tom felt about someone else being addressed by his title, Tom was also quite curious. He however played indifferently. Schooling him features to seem of disinterest. He wasn’t fooling anybody.

“Right, yeah.” Harry fiddled with the sleeve on his robe again, wondering where to start. He’d never had to explain this to people, they always knew. For Merlin’s sake, they all knew before he did. “We had- have- this Dark Lord. His name is Voldemort.” The name meant nothing to Tom, but he knew Albus was watching him for a reaction. “He attacked my family. He killed- my mum. My dad. He tried to kill me too. But he couldn’t.” Harry reached up and moved his fringe. Albus leaned forward in his seat, Tom too.

On Harry’s forehead was a neat little scar. The shape of a lightning bolt. It looked red, irritated. As if I was only a few months old.

“I was a baby when it happened. So I don’t remember it.” He paused and took a breath. “Voldemort tried to kill me with the killing curse, but for some reason it backfired, it hit him instead. He disappeared after that. That’s why I got the title. The boy who lived. People- they think of me as a hero. But I'm Harry- just Harry.” Tom doubted that. No one survives the killing curse. That wasn’t even how he got the title.

“I lived-live with my aunt and uncle. They’re Muggles, they don’t like magic you see.” They didn’t need to know anything else about that. “I didn’t know I was a wizard until my Hogwarts letter. So it was all a bit of a shock. We- well in my first year, we found out Voldemort was still alive. He survived too, the killing curse. He was- the is going to sound incredibly insane, believe me. I know. But Voldemort was living on the back of a teacher's head, like a parasite.” 

“There's no way- Headmaster Dumbledore this is ridiculous. No one survives a killing curse. No one.”

“Wait- How are you the boy who lived then?” Harry asked earnestly. He turned to face Tom, his eyes searching his face as if seeing him for the first time. Tom sniffed. He hated recounting it. He didn’t usually have to, because everyone already knew the story. He had literal books written about it.

“Mordancy came to the place where my father and I lived. He was notorious for his brutality. He meant to kill us. Because I’m the true descendant of Slytherin.” Tom was quite proud of that fact. Yet it meant nothing to his house as his blood was dirty. His status of half-blood was nothing better than muggle-borns in their eyes. They called him a mudblood for the fun of it. Before continuing Harry’s demeanor changed.

“You’re the heir of Slytherin.” He whispered. Tom supposed this was technically true. So he nodded slowly.

“Yes, I could be known by that title.”

“You opened the Chamber of Secrets-” Tom was about to retort, “the Tom in my world opened it.” Harry corrected. Tom sent him a nasty look. Ignoring this revelation.

“Mordancy came into the manor, and used muggle means to slit my father's throat.” Dumbledore made a sharp noise, from deep in his throat. A warning perhaps. Tom ignored it. Harry looked ill at his words. “There were rumors that he ate part of my father,” he said viciously. Wanting to bask in the other boy's repulsion. “Parts of him were missing-”

“Tom .” The game was almost over. Harry looked like he was about to throw up, almost as green as his eyes. He was afraid to ask.

“Why didn’t he- how did you live?” Tom leaned in towards Harry.

“I got my title because I’m the first person to have lived his demented playtime. He massacres families, it doesn’t matter the age. Or even the magic status. He paints the walls red,” Tom whispered the next part, thriving on Harry’s increased discomfort. “He held me, I was just older than a year. He placed me on this sick alter- then left me there. Covered in my father’s blood-”

“That’s enough .” Game over. Tom held up his hands defensively.

“He asked .”

“Is he still after you?” Harry cut in. Surprising the other two. Tom didn’t answer, because the Headmaster did.

“Yes, Harry. Mordancy is after Tom. Shortly after this particular attack, he made it very clear that Tom was his greatest enemy. But you must understand, this man is not sane. The people who follow him, are even less so.” It was all strange to Harry. 

“So he’s still out there? Like- right now? Alive, and walking around?” His answer was a solemn nod. “Why don’t you go defeat him?!” Harry jumped out of his seat, startling Albus. “You’re the strongest wizard, you could beat him! Just take him out. Why let him continue to hurt people? I don’t understand .” He gripped at his hair again, tugging it painfully.

“Ah, alas I cannot,” Albus whispered, forlorn.

“A prophecy has been made, and Tom is the only one who can end his reign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempted time travel, but it didn't work out. Mordancy is a bloodthirsty, crazy dude. Next chapter will be about him, and his followers. A lot will make more sense with it. I promise.
> 
> Harry is confused, you're confused, we're all confused.


	3. The Dark Lord Mordancy

Bare feet padded silently down a stone hallway, the figure was followed closely by a large mass of shadow. The black robes completely swallowed Lord Mordancy, dwarfing his body. His stature however did little to ease the discomfort when he was around. His body stopped aging sometime after his 25th, yet it felt old. Mordancy ceased his walking. Stopping, staying completely still in the dark hall.

“ _Master…_ ” The shadowy figure stopped as well. “ _You know as well as I that it's the price paid. One does not touch death, and get away completely unscathed._ ” The voice was wispy, and the only Mordancy had the absolute joy of hearing it.

“Stay out of my head, Death.” he whispered “I’ll call on you when I want to talk. You’ve ruined so many of my plans.” He indeed had. Death was a close friend of fate, and they played heavily with the rules these days. Death’s favorite pastime was how can one cause agony and distress for his Master, The Master of Death. Mordancy did not enjoy Death’s meddling. No, he wished dearly that he had never claimed all deathly hallows. However, he had. Now he paid the price, with his mind, and his body. 

The spectral being dissipated chuckling deeply, molding into the surrounding shadows. No other mortals could see it, but they could feel it. Much like a dementor, the air would chill. It caused heart palpitations and inflicted paranoia. The Death Eaters tried their best to stay away from the Dark Lord when he conversed with It.

Mordancy continued on his small trek. Relishing in his solitude for the moment. It wasn’t often he got to feel so lucid. Rounding the corner he happened upon two of his followers, they immediately stood up straighter and ceased whatever conversation they had been engaging in. Both muttered quiet ‘ my lord’s before bowing. These two were some of his most loyal followers. They had runes carved into their flesh, his name, and claims of them. They had been done crudely, Mordancy didn’t perfect carving into live flesh until he spent time with a voodoo priestess in Africa.   
His more recent followers were granted thinner, more precise lines. He did it wherever he felt. He stayed away from the face however, small mercy was only granted because he couldn’t have all his people locked away. His favored spot was the chest, above the heart. It symbolized his power over their lives. He controlled their heart, their life, their being. His emerald eyes roamed over the two bowed men. They didn’t dare stand up until he either addressed them or walked past them. Mordancy thrived off this fear.

“Barty, how is your father fairing?” He asked simply. Knowing the answer.

“My Lord, he is ill. Extremely sick like you said he would be.” His voice held reverence. His Lord had delivered on a promise. The brunette stood from his position and looked the Dark Lord in the eyes. “Thank you for his suffering. ” There was a glint of amusement in Mordancy’s eyes from the man's eager gratefulness. Yes, Crouch Sr. had what was coming to him. He had betrayed his family, he had hurt his followers. So of course he listened to a request and acted upon it. He could be a merciful lord. Barty had never asked for anything, in all his years of following Mordancy. 

It was a simple blood magic spell. He had learned it from a necromancer in his youth, a spell that made the recipient's body slowly decay over time. It was agony. Organs shut down one by one, the blood in your body would rot while it flowed through your veins. Your teeth would fall, and skin would flake. The lining in your stomach would cease making mucus, allowing your stomach acid to eat through its own home. It was even more extreme on wizards because their bodies healed faster. Making the process longer, and even repeating decay overtime. The body would use all its magic to heal the heart, the chambers. 

Only for it to happen again, _and again._

Crouch Sr. would be unable to perform magic, as it was continuously being used to heal him. It was only a matter of time before even that died as well. A fitting death.

Mordancy’s eyes shifted to his other follower. 

“Xenophilius…” The stark blond wizard stood. He gazed at his Lord differently. As an old friend might. “How is your daughter? Luna.”

“She is enjoying her first year at Hogwarts,” He smiled warmly. “She is Ravenclaw My Lord. A perfect little eagle.” Mordancy had always liked the child. She was so open, her soul was literally in her eyes. Death had mentioned how death had touched her when she was young, and it enhanced her. She was the living veil. A seer of death. Yet, she could not see Death. He had tested it. “She loved Samhain, and wished to know if you would be gracing us with your presence at Imbolc.” Xeno’s voice was soft, he held no evil intentions. Mordancy nodded sharply at the question. 

These moments he shared with Xeno were too intimate, it was something he allowed himself. A gift. Family. The Dark Lord grunted, looking down at his exposed toes for a moment. Neither follower moved, nor spoke. They knew they knew. He had moments, episodes. It could always happen.

“Let us get to the meeting before Bella takes her impatience out on the fresh blooded.” Was all he said before continuing his walk. Whatever tension that had built, crumbled. Barty and Xeno shared a look, both relieved. In his moods, the Dark Lord had an insatiable appetite. Any time they could avoid it, was a small miracle. Both men followed shortly after their Lord, careful to stay only in step with each other. Unless ordered, one does not walk in front of the Dark Lord. At least he loses composure, and your backside is his shiny new toy. 

The shadows played around Mordancy. He could hear voices in them. Some cried out, others whispered. He could never hear the exact wording. It was enough to drive a sane man mad, he was already mad. The further he got into the condemned ruins, the brighter it got. Sticks of fire lined the wall, licking at the stone, dancing. No warmth was offered. The flames made the shadows look erratic, moving too, and fro with every step the men took.

The Dark Lord entered the main chamber of the ruins, a hush fell over every attending follower. There was a stone altar in the middle of the room, it was stained. The ground had massive runes carved into it, beautiful spirals connecting here and there. From above it would be art, the design mathematically beautiful, from below it was eerie. For blood had flowed through them, leaving the dips bruised. It smelled like decay. Mordancy adored it. 

He stood in the entrance of the room, looking over his tiny kingdom. Most of his followers had been sitting on the stone slabs laid out for them, but now they were standing. All looking to the Master of Death. His family, his loyal. His Death Eaters.

Bellatrix Black was the first to move. It no longer annoyed Mordancy, now that he knew what it was like when your brain was but pieces, scattered. She meant well. The Black had crazier black hair than he, a nest, woven up to a bun like structure. It was matted in places, yet clean. Her eyes were wild, the whites always seemingly taking up most of them. Her mouth was full of jagged teeth and she often sported deep red or black lipstick. She was always done up. 

It was how she was raised, something drilled into her by her bitch of a mother. The late Lady Black was relentless. She smothered, she took and took, and Bellatrix gave. Her sisters abandoned her, leaving her to deal with her mother alone. Her father, Lord Black, was on his list. Druella Black was lucky to have passed before he could get to her. Her husband was not granted that same luck.

“My Lord!” Bellatrix howled, always the enthusiast. Others join in, making more welcoming statements. They often became more daring when Bellatrix led. She had pure joy etched on her face. Family. She bowed low. Others follow suit. Mordancy merely observed quietly, contemplating. Bellatrix hesitated, before standing back up. Her worry now lined her brow. To ease her anxious mind he nodded ever slightly. Her eyes lit up. They always did when he looked at her. 

“Enough of that. I tire of your groveling.” The Death Eaters all rose. Mordancy strolled to the back of the Chamber and took his seat. A crumbling throne, for a crumbling man. “Dolohov,” the dark-skinned man stood up straight. “Report on your findings.”

“My Lord, there was no evidence of the book inside the Department of Mysteries. Nor was there mention of it. No articles, nothing on record. Are you certain-” The Dark Lord would not give him another second. His wand pointed at the man, the word leaving his mouth as if he was born to say it.

“Crucio.” The chamber filled with sudden screaming, Dolohov’s knee gave out and he lay on the floor. The poor sod was clutching at his head, pulling at his hair, trying to feel anything other than the deep, white forever. His voice grew coarse quickly. The other followers shifted uneasily, unsure if he was being punished for simply not finding what he was set to, or if he had simply said the wrong word and the wrong time, and set off their Lord. 

Bellatrix was in her element, however. The woman soaked in the horror, let it bleed into herself. It was what made her feel alive. Mordancy could respect that. One basket case to another. He held the curse for no more than 30 seconds at most. It would have felt like an eternity. His point would get across. He finally lifted the curse. Dolohov had questioned his source before, this was his final warning. “Do not. Question. Me.” He received a jerky motion that he took as a nod.

“Yes M’lord.” came the slurred voice. The Dark Lord Relaxed back into his throne, keeping his wand in hand, a warning for the rest. He looked over to the next follower, and the reports on many excursions and raids were spoken. One after the other. Some good, some great, some disappointing. 

He did not have another outburst, and the rest of the meeting played on schedule. Lord Mordancy kept quiet, only naming off Death Eater’s to indicate their turn. He was in a foul mood.

“ _You’re always in a foul mood, Master._ ” The shadow swirled beside him. The closest Death Eater’s immediately backed off. The air frigid, had they not known ahead of time, they might think they were having heart attacks. Mordancy knew that there were indeed long term effects, should a mortal stand too close to the entity. 

He tested it out many times after seeing the instant repulsion, he dreamed about it for days before he gave in. He forced a muggle into a cell and called up his dark servant. It was interesting to watch someone panic, to see their eyes bulge and paranoia overcome them completely. They never had heart attacks, but instead, the constant pressure on their beating hearts and racing minds caused them to become sick, physically. If left long enough it broke them. A silent version of the madness that the cruciatus could cause, the best part was that he needn’t cast a spell.

“Perhaps,” he replied curtly. “It’s because you’ve warned me of the future, yet refuse to help me gather what I need. You are a pest.” He turned to the black mass. “I know you took the book. That’s very like you,” He sneered ”To hint me towards something only to steal it away.”

“ _I can’t have you solving the problem too fast, I do not wish to become bored._ ” It taunted him.

“There is nothing I could care less about than your boredom .”

“My Lord-” Mordancy turned sharply. Xenophilius held his ground, however, not faltering under the dark gaze. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t it be possible to acquire this text through the room of hidden things?” The room buzzed with murmurs at the mention of the Hogwarts myth. “There are many sightings of its existence, of what it can do. Call me a dreamer, but I believe in this. I believe that this is the correct way to find it.” His tone was pleading. 

Xeno was a man of many beliefs, like his daughter, he focused on the unseen. He had a knack for knowing things without knowing. If there was anyone who wanted to save magic more than the Dark Lord, it was Xenophilius Lovegood.

Lord Mordancy felt a flicker of annoyance beside him, Death dissolved into the ground.

“Yes… I believe that will do.” Xeno relaxed faintly. “I want a list of all your children, fifth years or higher only. This will get done before the end of the year. Barty-” The Death Eater nodded in understanding. It would be his job to compile the list. “Now leave, I wish to be alone.” The dismissal was clear, and the Death Eaters wasted no time in leaving the inner chamber. The cavern was empty within seconds. Leaving the Dark Lord in his lone throne.

He steadied his gaze to the altar before he whispered to himself. It was almost inaudible.

_“I’m going to save magic.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one ever writes Xenophilius, and I love him. I love him and Luna so much.
> 
> The Master of Death huh? Bet you didn't see that one coming. Just to give you all a heads up, no, he is not going to be overpowered because of this. He basically is immortal as long as the three Hollows are loyal to him (like how Voldie was basically immortal unless his Horcruxes were destroyed). He has an easier time with death/blood magic, like voodoo and necromancy. He cannot use any spells that are meant to heal, nor spells like the Patronus. Mordancy cannot speak parseltongue. It's our boys' secret code language. Yaaaaay.


	4. Secrets are powerful Harry, keep them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to edit this chapter because of discrepancies ;-;
> 
> Woe is me.

Harry felt- well he wasn’t too sure how he felt. Tom had to fight this man. He was destined for it. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t kids just be kids, and not have to worry about vanquishing Dark Lords? 

“That sucks.” Was all he could get out. Tom snorted, folding his arms.

“Your way with words is astounding Potter.”

“I’m trying this thing, it's called sympathy. Not that you’ve ever felt it.”

“No, I’m too busy reading, and actually using my brain.”

“Wow, you have a brain? I’m surprised.” Harry Potter was immature, annoying, and was it wrong for Tom to be having fun right now? This had to be one of the longest conversations he has held with another student where he wasn’t plotting murder or escape. Okay, maybe just a little murder.

“I believe you two could bicker to your deaths if I allowed it.” Dumbledore sat back in his chair once again, the twinkle in his eye was once again present. “However, there are quite a few things we are going to have to do.” At Harry’s questioning gaze, he elaborated. “Since you are going to be stuck here, for however long it takes for us to reverse this,” he waved his hands in the air, motioning to all of Harry. “You will need accommodations. I see your robes are Gryffindor, but I have to ask you to allow yourself to be re-sorted.” Albus waved his once more, a silent accio for the Sorting Hat. Tom was jealous of the wandless magic, Harry was awed. That was awesome. He still didn’t want to get sorted again though. A spark of dread went through him. It might choose Slytherin this time for real. No arguing, no persuasion. Then Harry would really be in trouble. At least in Gryffindor, he knew where everything was. He was sure there were students he’d know. The four-poster beds in red were his home. 

“Sir-” But Dumbledore was already walking towards him with the hat. It seemed final then. Harry’s luck only showed up at inconvenient times. The Sorting Hat was dropped onto his head, and he lost vision. The back of the rim covered his eyes, and a familiar voice filled his brain.

“Ah Harry, yes. But not the right Harry Potter.” It tsked, Harry wondered where it got that quirk from. “Let’s see- Ah. Hmm mm. Yes. So I have sorted you before. Your mind is- much different than His, yes much different.”

“Much different than who? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Harry Potter of this world of course. Silly child.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m different? How? What was- what is he like?” Harry pushed.

“Hm.” The hat grumbled to itself. “Albus has not told you, it wouldn’t be the first time he negates facts from you. I believe he is trying to protect you- yes that's exactly it." The hat went quiet and seemed to think for a long moment. “The Harry Potter of this world, started as a bright young man, like yourself. He loved magic, wanted to know it all. He would have been a Ravenclaw if not for his recklessness, and inability to plan before acting.” Harry imagined that the hat would be giving him a look because he was like that. “He was a Gryffindor. Reckless as he was, he had a pure heart.” The hat's voice dropped, and he spoke quietly. “But something happened. He was given a task, and the pressure of the task broke him. It pushed him far into himself. It pushed him to the magic that only harmed. His goal became his life, and it’s consumed him ever since."

"So now he's-"

"I'm afraid that's all I can say, for now, Harry."

"But-"

"No need to worry, everything will reveal itself in time. Now," The hat cleared its non-throat. "Even though I've been given a second chance to sort you, it pains me to say that I will keep you in Gryffindor. The change in houses would be suspicious as you might have already been seen y others in the robe you are currently wearing, _and I do believe you are missing your bed_." Harry flushed, but wholly agreed. "Good luck, and some last-minute advice as it were. **Secrets are powerful Harry."** Before Harry could ask what it was supposed to mean, the hat changed subjects. "Come for a chat anytime. Albus keeps me on a dusty shelf, and an old hat gets lonely.”

The hat became still, and Harry reached up, taking it off his head.

“Gryffindor.” He said, smiling. His robes did not change from their current color scheme, and that seemed good enough to Dumbledore. 

“Thank you, Harry.” The hat was taken from him and placed on the desk instead.

“Sir- the hat.” Albus turned a questioning gaze to the boy. “He said he gets lonely. I just thought you should know.” 

“The hat gets lonely, he says.” Tom mocked. Both Harry and Dumbledore ignored him. He hated that.

“I will keep that in mind Harry, thank you.” They shared a smile. “I do believe that it is past breakfast, and neither of you has eaten yet have you?” As if on queue, Tom’s stomach rumbled. He was quite hungry. Harry had written to the diary in the evening, just as the sun had set. He technically had eaten just hours prior, to dinner, but he found his stomach agreeing with Toms. “Ah, as I thought.” He walked around his desk once more. “Let’s get you, boys, some food, then it’s off to class. Double potions this morning, with Slytherin and Gryffindor.” Harry blanched, and Tom nodded curtly. Harry prayed to whatever god was listening, that Snape was not the potions teacher. But when has fate ever truly favored Harry Potter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, because I really wanted to do one more chapter for the day. More students and shenanigans next chapter. If you have a character(canon) you'd really like to see, let me know. I'll try my hand at writing them in. I don't promise it'll be how you want (student? professor? DEATH EATER??)
> 
> Fun fact: I misspelled Dumbledore's name wrong 5 times in this chapter, and laughed at myself when correcting it. They were all different.


	5. Snape is still a huge dick

The three wizards were walking through the castle, towards the dungeons. It was in fact double potions with the Gryffindors, Tom didn’t even want to think about how Dumbledore memorized the second year's timetable. He probably did it so he would know where Tom was at all times. He wouldn’t doubt it for a second. Harry seemed to get increasingly nervous, the closer they got. It made Tom wonder if he knew the potions professor, Dumbledore was the Headmaster in both worlds, it would only seem fitting that Professor Snape be the same as well. Some of the parallels were disconcerting. Tom didn’t like that Harry had the same experience after losing his parents. Living with two muggle family members, who disliked magic. Tom knew what that meant. He lived it every summer. A sick part of him hoped Harry’s relatives hated him. Just like how his grandparents hated him. It was because of fear. They were afraid of something they could not have, could not control. They also feared Tom in general. He wasn’t the nicest little boy growing up. He doubted Harry could sympathize with that. 

Tom looked over to the small boy, they were side by side, trailing behind Dumbledore like puppies. Harry was a nervous wreck. Tom ate up kids like that, then spit them out. They were easy to exploit. The problem was, he had to keep Harry close. He knew parseltongue. He had written to a different version of himself, how much did he know? He wasn’t the only one to take advantage of people, which meant Harry would be a target. Which in turn made Tom a bigger target. He wouldn’t let Harry’s knowledge be taken by anyone else. He could know things, important things. The way he spoke about the Chamber of Secrets... he needed to know. Harry was even more helpless because he had a borrowed wand, he didn’t have his own on him when the diary fiasco happened, for whatever reason. So he was stuck with one of the many wands that were meant as substitutes, in case of emergency for students who lost, or broke their own. It was a pitiful thing and the only one that reacted to Harry at all. It gave a sad puff of smoke. Dumbledore seemed to think it was enough. By the look on Harry’s face, he could tell that the wand did not like him.

“Potter,” The other teen looked up in surprise, it morphed quickly into suspicion. “You should sit with me during potions. We don’t know how different the curriculum could be, and I happen to be excellent with potions.” 

“Yeah, I guess. ” He wasn’t great at potions, so that would work out. He had yet to find out if his friends were even here. It would be better to partner with someone he knew. Not that he knew Tom. He supposed he could use this as a chance to scope things out. “I mean thank you. I’d like that.” Polite.

“When we arrive, you two can take your seats, I will talk with Professor Snape about our new student, then-”

“Oh, Merlin, not Snape .”

“That’s Professor Snape, Harry,” Albus reprimanded. Harry ignored him in favor of covering his face, almost knocking his glasses off. “You should be able to slide right in, I don’t expect any problems to arise. As long as you are respectful, I’m sure Professor Snape will treat you as the student you are.” Tom knew that was a load of poppycock. Harry was also thinking about how that was a crock of shit, an expression he learned from the muggle TV at the Dursley's. Snape hated Gryffindor's, there was no way a new world would allow him to transcend past his strange vendetta. Harry Potter believed there was no world in which Snape didn’t hate Gryffindor's. Perhaps he was right.

They stopped outside the classroom, and the boys were given a last notable look before the doors were opened. The air was pungent, foul, the students clearly started in some sort of potion. Tom knew that they were recreating the Girding Potion. Dumbledore only took a few steps into the classroom and motioned for the two teens to find a seat. Tom immediately took in his surroundings, there was always an empty table with the Slytherins because nobody sat with him. Nobody wanted to sit with him, so there was always space. He didn’t think twice about it and headed towards the left side of the classroom, a sea of green. Harry wasn’t as enthusiastic and took his time following. He was put off by Snape, but the slimy bat barely paid him any attention, and instead was quite clearly confused with the Headmaster's appearance. He missed breakfast as well. Dumbledore said something quietly to the approaching Professor, and Snape turned to the class. All eyes were on him.

“You will continue your potions, and you will follow the steps. If for whatever reason you can’t, find a partner who can read .” His familiar drawl did nothing to ease Harry’s nerves. The two men left the classroom, and whispers erupted. Harry realized he was standing in the middle of the classroom, and a large majority of students were staring at him. They had never seen him before, right. 

“Potter, get over here.” It was Tom’s voice. He sounded off. This only started more whispers. Harry could pick up words like “Gryffindor” and “Riddle”. He cleared his throat and made his way to the empty seat next to Tom. 

“I’m not your dog, Tom .” The two Slytherins at the table behind them snickered. This won’t do.

“You’re right, dogs actually listen .” Harry’s look of disbelief was instantaneous. 

“I’m here aren't I?” He waved his hand to the desk. It wasn’t like he had refused to sit with Tom. He agreed to sit with him.

“Good boy.” A look of absolute disgust crossed Harry’s face, but before he could retort the door to the classroom swung open, and Snape swiftly charged in. He walked briskly to the front of the classroom and turned in his place. His robes flapped dramatically, and he crossed his arms. His stern gaze zeroed in on Harry. It was so quiet, you could hear the bubbling of potions.

“It would seem,” Harry held his breath. “that we have a new student.” All eyes were on Harry at once, and he wished he could sink into the chair. That he could just die, spontaneous combustion maybe. Snape’s eyes lingered on him, then briefly flickered to the boy beside him. Tom leveled his own gaze, staring right back with an empty expression. Snape seemed to make up his mind about something, he addressed the entire class, no longer focusing his attention on any individual. “You will continue your potions, and not harass Mr.Potter. Should you fail to follow these simple instructions, you will be spending the next fortnight cleaning cauldrons with your toothbrush. Is. That. Understood?” The second-years took that prompt and began working diligently on their potions. Well most of them did. A couple of Gryffindor's were trying to sneak peeks, even some Slytherins were attempting to view the new student, they were at least subtle about it.

“Why is he working with a Slytherin, is that even allowed?” 

Harry Potter had never been happier to hear Ron Weasley complaining. 

Apparently, Snape was thinking the same thing, because he plastered on the ugliest smile Harry had ever seen, and swiftly gave Ron detention. He took 20 points as well, the git. But even that couldn't dull the pure joy he felt in his chest. Ron was here. He still had Ron. It might not have been his Ron, but it was better than nothing. Surely his best friend wasn’t too different from world to world? He would approach him at lunch. He would sit at the Gryffindor table, and things would start to go right for him. He was going to joke with Ron about Malfoy's stupid hair, and pretend he wasn’t put off by the way Ron chewed with his mouth open. Even if he knew no one would blame him. Hermione would even say something, but Ron would ignore her. Because that's how it went.

Hermione… He hadn’t seen her bushy hair. She might not be here. Harry’s mood soured. How could they be the golden trio, if there weren’t three of them?

“Potter, stop sulking, and help me with this.” And Tom. What an absolute ass-hat. He was lucky he had a pretty face and a brain because he had a shit personality. Harry huffed loudly, dramatically. He made it a show to stand up as if it were hard. He didn’t want to be stuck here making potions. Potions were dumb.

“Fine. What do you want me to do?” He looked around, it seemed that Tom had already started the potion, and it had turned a pale pink. He must have left the desk to grab supplies at some point. It reminded Harry of that medicine his aunt used when Dudley had an upset stomach. “You don’t even need my help.” Tom ignored him and handed Harry a weird-looking root.

“Cut off the white end, the bulbous piece, then mince it as small as you can. This isn’t technically part of the ingredients, but I’ve found it helps speed up the process. If we want to catch up we’ll have to use this.” Harry was then handed a small paring knife, and he did as he was told. He started slicing the white root when Tom sighed. “ No, I said mince it.” Then the knife was stolen from Harry, and Tom made it his mission to show Harry how to mince something correctly. The rest of the class was spent on this. Harry being given minimal tasks, only for Tom to grow frustrated at Harry’s lack of kitchen techniques then pause the potion making to teach him correctly. Sometimes Harry purposely failed his task, in hope that he would get Tom to cease his own to help him. He didn’t want to admit it, but he learned more from Tom in two hours than Snape in his entire first year. He knew it was because he learned much better with one on one teachings. In an elementary school with the muggles, they often had a second teacher, a student-teacher. Harry often was able to get any help that he needed with a raise of his hand. Hogwarts didn’t offer that, and Harry often resorted to getting help from Hermione.

He knew it was something to do with auditory VS visual VS kinesthetic learning, Harry being in the latter. The potion turned a deep green as Tom heated it further, then with a wave of his wand the green relaxed into almost solid gold.

“Finished, and with,” Tom cast a look at a nearby clock. “minutes to spare as well.” He was very pleased with himself. All that was left to do was to bottle the concoction and hand it in. This was probably one of the most successful potions Harry had gotten to make, considering any time he was paired with Hermione he wasn’t allowed to touch anything. With Ron the potions nearly always came out a disaster, he couldn’t use all his toes and fingers to count the number of times the cauldron either melted, or they accidentally created a whole new potion. They were a complete mess, Harry believed that they were meant to be great friends, not colleagues. Ron was clumsy and careless, and Harry often gave up halfway through. He didn’t understand why spinning clockwise against counterclockwise was so important. So Ron and Harry took turns partnering with Hermione, so they would at least get a decent grade for practical potion-making. The written part was a bit easier.

“Could it be possible that you’ve forgotten to add in the flying seahorse before the second dose of toasted dragonfly thoraxes?” Snape's voice rang through the class, his sneer could be heard in the words. “Ten points for missing crucial steps, making your potion useless, and wasting ingredients.” The professor continued down his line of students, checking the potions. You could hear Ron whisper ‘flying seahorse? There was supposed to be a flying seahorse? Bloody hell.’ With every remark from Snape, the Slytherins would snicker, finding delight in the number of mistakes taken. When it was the Slytherins turn, Snape merely nodded at the potions, only stopping at Tom’s and Harry’s table. Harry kept his eyes down. Snape peered into their cauldron and Harry’s heart stopped again. “Perhaps you could all learn a thing or two from Mr. Riddle and… Potter .” Grumbles could be heard from the other side of the classroom, the Slytherins however made no indication that they had heard Snape, other than a few exchanged glances. “Five points each, for not being incompetent .” They were ordered to clean up, bottling their potions for Snape to grade them on. Quickly after, dismissed.

Tom wasted no time in grabbing Harry’s robe above his right shoulder, pulling him harshly to the doors. They were the first ones out and Tom held on, seemingly content to literally drag Harry along with him.

“Hey- Stop!” Harry fought against his vice-like grip, Tom was strong. “Just let go! Tom- ” He did not let go, Harry was forced to try his best to keep pace with the taller boy. His legs weren't as long, so he was practically jogging.

“We have Transfiguration next, I’d like to get there early so we can get the better seats.”

“You mean you have Transfiguration, I’m pretty sure I have Charms with Ravenclaws. I’m Gryffindor, remember?” Tom remembered, he was a bit peeved that the class schedule was the same, which made Harry right. The taller teen let go of him, making Harry stumble, falling half into Tom. Harry glared up into his face. He righted himself as elegantly as he could. 

“You’re absolutely correct.” Tom’s steely expression softened into the fakest smiles Harry had ever seen, it made him want to gag. “ Have a wonderful Charms class, Potter. ” Then he turned around without another thought and sped forward to Transfiguration. It was entirely unexpected, and Harry simply stared after Tom’s back. What the hell. Have a wonderful Charms class, Potter. What an absolute git. Harry muttered to himself,

“ You have a wonderful class, Tom. ” Only to realize a second later that he was talking to himself in a corridor, and should probably go to class. Charms were taught by Professor Flitwick, he was nice enough. Harry could only hope that the Headmaster explained his situation and that he wasn’t in for a terribly awkward conversation. At least he could try to talk to Ron, and see who else he recognized. Yeah, that was a good game plan. Resolved with his objective, Harry began to walk to the moving stairs, Charms should be on the third floor still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my longest chapter yet, I seriously can't wait to write Ron. He's a beautiful idiot that reminds me of my little brother. Both he and I are gingers.
> 
> COMMENTS MAKE ME HAPPY. Who is your favorite Hogwarts professor? Mine is Lockhart. That glorious bastard.


	6. Some familiar faces

Charms class was indeed still on the third floor. Small mercies were something Harry would always be grateful for. His trek to the class had been fairly uneventful. He could see students coming down from different floors, some making their way to the first floor for DADA, or History of Magic. Harry briefly wondered if Professor Binns was still a ghost. Some students shared his own roaming stair, not paying him any mind. They seemed much older, Hufflepuff, fifth year at least. All three were girls, Harry didn’t recognize any of them, but he didn’t make it a habit to converse with much older students anyhow. They had continued up the stairs, somewhere onto the next four floors. Harry continued his own journey, stepping into the Charms corridor. Much like the rest of Hogwarts, it was stone floor and walls, he remembered the trophy room was somewhere on this floor as well, in his world it was. He walked slowly now, students had a break period of a half-hour between classes, and he would be arriving extremely early. Hermione would be proud.

He took in his surroundings in the corridor, trying to remember if any of it was different. He never really seemed to notice the paintings, nor the various decorations. He wished he’d paid close attention to the smaller things. Had that moving painting been there? He stopped to gaze at it. The scene depicted a faraway field, in which some type of wheat or grain grew. The wind would periodically blow, and the bushels of plants would dance, creating a waved pattern that cascaded down the print. Harry imagined what it would feel like, the warm wind whipping around him. Caressing his skin. He had never really been to an open field like this, bar from the cornfield beside the Burrow. They weren’t really allowed to roam the area surrounding the home, due to the regular infestations of magical creatures. Harry could see the fields, but they were overgrown, unkempt. A story from the past when it was once someone's livelihood to take care of them. Now they were memories. The tall grass shimmered in the painting and Harry decidedly had stared at it long enough. He resumed his stroll, only pausing when he walked past the forbidden corridor. The one where Fluffy had slept peacefully, guarding the stone. Harry had heard from Hagrid that the animal was relocated back to Greece, his home place. The teen was happy that he was home, and only hoped it was better there. Everyone deserves a happy home.

Harry only had to pace forward a few doors before he reached his Charms class. If he had continued forward he knew there to be a large window overlooking the front drive of Hogwarts. Harry merely sauntered into the open classroom. He was indeed the first student, being almost twenty minutes early would do that. He walked further into the class before he could hear a quiet muttering, it was coming from behind Flitwick's desk. Books were towered high, easily dwarfing Harry. 

“Aha! Yes, yes! There you are! ” The squeaky voice rang out from behind a pile, and before Harry knew it there was an entire stack of books tumbling forward. He instinctively took a step forward, thinking to catch them, but it was completely unneeded. Every book halted its fall, and simply floated in place. Behind the fallen pile stood the small stature of Professor Flitwick. He was holding a tome in one hand, his wand steady in the other. “Ahh, you must be Harry Potter!” A flick of his wrist and the book started to stack themselves. Hiding the half-goblin from sight.

“Uh yeah- Yes sir.” The stout man made a huffing sound as he jumped from where he had been, and rounded the desk. He waddled towards Harry. He was the same, Harry had seen him in class not too long ago. 

“Headmaster Dumbledore and I had a short chat about you, and you needn't worry about falling behind!” Professor Flitwick shoved his wand back into his sleeve, an extendable holder fixing it in place. “ Homeschooling can be- well it's quite different. But I won’t allow a student to suffer! I was a bit disappointed to learn you'd be Gryffindor, I’m the Head of the Ravenclaw house you see- not that it truly makes a difference of course .” He reached down to his small hand, and Harry almost had to bend his knees to reach for it. They shook briefly. “Professor Flitwick.” Harry nodded, not that he really needed the man to tell him. “We have been learning the Engorgement Charm, it’s- Well actually do you know that one yet? The Headmaster said you might surprise me with what you already know.” He peered at Harry quizzically. Harry was surprised, they had already learned this spell, and we're already onto the Shrinking Charm in his class.

“Actually yes. I learned that one a couple of months ago.” It was what they learned at the beginning of the year. Had his timeline been that skewed? He assumed it was the 13th of June, as Diary Tom had written. Which meant the end of the term, because the end of June was when they would all be sent home. He had written in the diary on Valentine's day, however, February 14th. He stupidly hadn’t thought to ask about what month or day it was. Only the year had been of interest between him and the Headmaster. “Sir if you don’t mind me asking, could you tell me the date?” He didn’t get a reaction of complete confusion.

“Oh yes, I can never remember either. It is currently November 14th! At least I hope it is. Hmm. Yes, I’m quite sure.” The smaller man nodded to himself, and Harry felt like he had been punched in the gut. He had time traveled! It was only four months, but still. Dumbledore did say they were in 1992. If Harry had been paying enough attention he would have remembered that he already had lived through the new year to 1993. Sometimes years got weird, however, and he would often write 1992 by accident on parchments. A terrible habit. 

“I see. Right. I couldn’t remember if it was the 14th or 15th. Home-school brain you see-” Flitwick took on a look of complete understanding, bordering on pity. “I could help other students maybe?” 

“Yes! That is a great idea, Harry! Very thoughtful of you!” Harry looked down to the floor, suddenly embarrassed. He didn’t really enjoy compliments, he felt like he didn’t deserve them. Especially not now. He had only offered to further his own agenda. After all, he would be able to talk to Ron. His wand work was sloppy. The professor didn’t pick up on Harry’s sheepish demeanor and instead started to talk happily to the student about the charm. He got Harry to demonstrate it for him a couple of times. The first time the wand actually made a sad noise, resembling a fart, no magic took place. Harry shared an apologetic look with Flitwick and explained his borrowed wand. He tried again and got results this time. After three successful attempts the professor was impressed, a moment later a few Ravenclaws joined the duo. 

“Ah hello Boot, Corner- Goldstein! Wonderful work on your written in Herbology, I heard from Professor Sprout that you got full marks! Absolutely fantastic.” Harry's new Terry Boot, had a small recollection of Anthony Goldstein, but couldn't pin Michael Corner. He was sure the boy was in his world as well. All three students waved their hullo’s and walked towards the left side of the classroom. Each held their textbooks, and Harry could tell each was excited to start class. Anthony was walking slightly taller after the compliment, and his eyes flickered over to Harry briefly before dropping. He whispered to Terry, who in turn looked up from whatever he had been saying to Michael. The rumors had spread quickly it seemed, the Ravenclaws knew about their “transfer student”. It was only time before he would be bombarded with questions. It was only due to Flitwick that he knew his own backstory of a wizard child who had been home-schooled before being accepted into Hogwarts. No one ever told Harry anything.

“Now Harry, some of the Gryffindors were having trouble with the Charm. I would highly appreciate it if you could help your new housemates, I’m sure you would appreciate some time to get to know them as well! Some very good lads, and ladies of course.” Harry agreed with an easy nod. That was his plan. “Now choose a seat, any seat will be fine.” The Professor then went on to greet some more of the students who entered the classroom. Harry kept his ears open, as Flitwick was seemingly content with addressing each Ravenclaw student to come in. He chose to sit closer to the back of the class, near the door. The classroom was laid out differently than potions, instead of rows, the desks were along the edge of the room, encompassing it. There was a large blackboard at the front of the classroom, with the professor's desk in front of that. They never used the board, however. Behind the board was the big window that also showed the entrance to Hogwarts. It was the sister window to the one in the corridor. Now that Harry was actually paying attention, he realized that outside indeed look a lot more like the throws of autumn, rather than the middle of winter.

“I’m sorry I’m late Professor!” Harry’s head whipped to the right at the familiar voice of Hermione Granger. He took her in, her bushy-haired glory. She stood exactly as he knew her. Hair frizzed out, eyebrows thick. Her teeth are a little too bulky for her mouth, giving her a more mousy look. Harry never minded, he found it endearing. The only thing off about his best friend was that she was wearing blue. Hermione was a Ravenclaw! No wonder he didn’t see her in potions.

“No need to apologize dear, class has yet to begin. Another five minutes or so. No need to fret.” Only Hermione would classify it late being five minutes early. He couldn’t help the small huff of laughter that fell out of his mouth. It was loud enough that Hermione heard him, however, and her hair flew in bounced curls as she turned her full attention to him. She took in his Gryffindor colors, and Harry realized as soon as she frowned that she thought he was making fun of her. Other Gryffindor boys probably did. He couldn’t mess this up.

“Oh- Hi!” He smiled in a way that he hoped looked friendly. “I’m Harry, the new transfer student.” He must have said the right thing because the next thing he knew Hermione was in front of his desk and had such a look in her eyes. Her hands were braced against the desk as if she needed to hold on or she’d fly away.

“Oh, I’ve heard about you! Did you know that there hasn’t been a school transfer in over seventy-five years? The last was a young girl from the french school. It's called Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Apparently, her family was on the run, and they had to move. It’s just fascinating. ” Her face took on a contemplative look, and Harry braced himself. “You have an English accent, so you’re not from another school.” It was a brilliant deduction, he nodded

“I’m from South East London. Lived there my whole life actually.” Every word he spoke was eaten up by Hermione. He had to be careful with what he said because she would sponge in every ounce of detail and would be the first to find inconsistencies. “I was home-schooled, my parents worried about- well You-Know-Who, and didn’t want to send me away.” His use of words was because he forgot the Dark Lord’s name from this world already. It would be horrible if he accidentally said Voldemort anyway, he’d come across as an idiot, or perhaps start a panic about a different Dark Lord. Hermione leaned in another question on her lips.

“But you’re here now-” She wasn’t able to continue, because Professor Flitwick announced the class was about to start and that students should move to their seats. Hermione looked conflicted about whether to continue her barrage or to follow the teachers instructions. Her need to listen to rules won. Harry sent her an apologetic smile, which she tentatively returned before heading over to the side of the class where Ravenclaw students sat. There weren’t technically any rules about having to sit with your own house, but it was a known faux pas. The same went for the great hall during meals. Hufflepuff's were the most lenient, and you could sometimes spot somebody over at their table, and they often frequented their friends’ tables too.

“C-can I sit here?” Neville Longbottom more or less whispered. Already looking at Harry like he’d been denied. Harry always liked Neville, he was an odd kid. Quiet in a shy way, not like Tom’s evil information collection quiet. 

“Of course.” Harry motioned with his head at the seat to his left. Neville looked like he was about ready to faint, he probably was. He clumsily took the seat, almost falling when he didn’t pull it close enough to the desk. His face took on a shade that reminded Harry of a very ripe tomato. Now that class had started, Harry whispered to Neville, without looking at him.“I’m Harry by the way.” He received an equally quiet “N-Neville Longbottom.”

“Quiet down students! We have a very special announcement to make! Harry, won’t you please stand up.” He hadn’t been expecting this, maybe he should have. He stood up, taking a look at all the students at the surrounding desks. “Now, Harry Potter here is a transfer student. Yes, yes very exciting.” Some other students stood up themselves, peering over the top of their friends’ heads. Ron was literally halfway off his desk, staring at Harry as if he were a shiny new toy. It was strange, to go from being noticed because he was famous, to being noticed only because he was virtually unknown. “He was sorted privately with Headmaster Dumbledore, and will be staying with us until the foreseeable future.” There were numerous murmurs across the classroom. “Please help me with giving Harry a wonderful welcome!.” He started clapping, and Harry felt so awkward. Was this normally how things like this went? If Hermione was correct (he knew she had to be) then nobody knew how things like this were supposed to go. More than half the class joined in with clapping, looking as awkward as Harry felt.

“Uh- Thanks, guys. I hope we can all get along. Yeah..” He threw a small wave in both directions of the class and took his seat. Flitwick tried to reel in the students' excitement, so he could start the lesson but he was never able to get everybody's attention. There was always someone staring at Harry. He chose to ignore them for the time being. He looked over to Ron, who was furiously whispering with Dean Thomas, and another dark-skinned boy whom he definitely did not recognize. Ron looked up at Harry and froze, caught in the act. Harry gave him a lopsided smile. He received a look of guarded suspicion immediately, then Ron turned to Dean once more. Dumbfounded by the reaction, Harry focused on Flitwick again. He hadn’t done anything, there was no reason for Ron to distrust him. Why was he acting like that? Was that how Tom felt when Harry regarded him in the same manner? But Tom was suspicious! Like Malfoy. He was only offering a bit of kindness… Something told him that this was not all going to go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is some time travel! Minimal as it is. I tried my best to line up dates with canon, I had a huge sheet of paper where I was writing down the timeline. It seemed to all workout. Let me know if it makes sense! Harry was pulled through the diary, and ended up in Tom's world, four months earlier than his own. I hinted at it in the Dark Lords chapter, with Samhain and Imbolc. Because I'm sneaky.
> 
> Next chapter we will have a lot more Harry and friends? interaction.


	7. The right sort

Charms class had truly begun, and Flitwick had just finished revising the pronunciation and wand movements. Harry’s borrowed wand seemed to be reacting better to his magic now that he was in an extremely foul mood. The wand liked him upset. Whose wand was this? The wood was a dark brown, and the handle reminded Harry of a hooked nose. The curve on the handle fit his hand perfectly, yet it was uncomfortable. It had small worn ridges just before the wand started to taper to the point. It was rigid and shorter than his own. Something about the wand didn’t like him, yet he could tell it wanted to perform magic. It felt restless in his hand. He looked over to his right just in time to watch Neville attempt the charm on their small match-like sticks, he wasn’t aiming right, however.

“Engor-” Harry felt fear.

“Wait!” The timid student sat straight up from his bent-over position. Harry’s outburst had caused him to drop his wand, his eyes had grown comically large. Luckily the spell wasn’t completed and no misfire happened. “Sorry- but you weren’t curving your wand enough. Here let me-” Harry stood from his seat and walked over to the side of the desk. He picked up Neville’s wand and offered it back to the other Gryffindor. Neville hesitated slightly before grabbing it. Harry reached over and held his hand over Neville’s. “The movement is more like this,” He guided Neville’s hand down into a circular motion, making sure to point the wand. The engorgement charm was meant for a specific object. Not to be cast randomly out into the world. “You have to make sure you round it out better, instead of the oval shape you were doing. Imagine you’re tracing a circle around the object you're casting at. But don’t complete the circle at the top.” Neville’s mouth formed into a small ‘o’ and Harry released the other’s hand. “Try it a couple more times, to get used to it before casting. Remember to visualize the match swelling, as the professor said.” Neville, with renewed vigor, moved his hand in the way Harry showed him. Then he did it twice more. The meek boy looked up to Harry, and he nodded encouragingly.

“Engorgio!” The hand movement was much better this time, and Neville’s wand had been pointing in the right direction this time. A small silvery-blue light flew out the end of the boy's wand, and the match seemed to hop into place, from one end to the other. It didn’t swell in size, but it was a great start. Neville’s eyes looked down at his own wand as if he couldn’t believe anything had actually happened.

“That was awesome Neville!” The blonde boy’s mouth twitched, and a small smile formed on his face. He bowed his head, bashfully. “You’ll get it for sure, sometimes it just takes practice. I didn’t get my match to swell bigger for weeks.” He received a weak nod.

“T-thanks H- Harry.” He smiled, feeling accomplished. It seemed Neville was a hands-on learner as well. He instructed Neville to keep practicing, to remember the wand movement, and to aim. He offered some advice to practice both a couple of times before casting. “It’ll help with building muscle memory.”

“ Hey, new kid.” Harry turned around and was surprised to be face to face with Pansy Parkinson. Like Hermione, she was now decked out in blue. She was still a bit pug-faced, but she had a less constipated look about her. More open. Still had a major attitude problem, however. Her arms were crossed, and she was leaning to the side.

“Uh hi?”

“I need your help with the spell. I want to master it before Granger, and can’t seem to make it work.” She nodded her head to the desk behind Harry. “You got Longbottom to show for something, no one has been able to get that close.” Harry was surprised to hear this. He supposed they really were all just learning the spell.

“Yeah, sure.” Pansy cleared her throat then held her hand out, much as a princess would. It looked like she expected Harry to kiss it or something. He instead awkwardly held it and gave it a pathetic shake. 

“Pansy Parkinson.” She didn’t seem to mind. He looked over to where Ron was sitting, and all three of the Gryffindor’s were watching him intently. Ron’s eyes darted back and forth between himself and Pansy. Dean was more relaxed, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. The third boy looked a bit bored, leaning forward on his desk, resting his head on his hand. Pansy followed Harry’s gaze and snorted. She took her hand back, and folded her arms defensively, sneering.

“Those three are trouble makers. I wouldn’t suggest getting mixed up with them .” She sent a nasty grimace, one that Ron immediately returned. She made a strangled sound in the back of her throat and unfolded her arms, grabbing onto Harry’s robes, then turned and pulled him with her towards her own desk. She walked with her nose held high as if the other Ravenclaws they passed were lesser than her. She probably did think that. Harry followed dutifully, he was suspecting that he should start getting used to being carded around. Maybe he looked very draggable? She stopped pulling and turned expectantly to him when they got to their destination. She gave him a ‘well?” look and Harry cleared his throat.

“Right, okay. Let me see your form first.” Pansy very daintily raised her wand, she shook her short bangs out of her face, making her bobbed hair shimmer under the lights. She was actually quite pretty when she concentrated like that. She drew a precise circle in the air, Harry noticed that she completed it. Her hold on her wand was very strict, not giving it any wiggle room. Prissy. “Alright, first things first, you need to relax a bit. You’re standing like you’ve been hit with Petrificus Totalus. The Engorgement charm is a light piece of spell work, you don’t need to take it so seriously. Try unclenching your jaw too.” Pansy looked rather uncomfortable but did as she was told. Her posture relaxed bit by bit. “Now when you’re casting, don’t fully complete the circle movement. It’s like you have to leave a small opening at the top for the magic to get out.”

“That’s not what it's for though.”

“No, but I find spells work better for me when I do it that way.” Pansy stared at his face blankly, then tried the gesture again. “Yeah, just like that.” It was a lot more relaxed, she still held herself higher, he didn’t think that would ever change.

“Hey Potter, can you help me too?”

“Back off Boot, he’s helping me-”

“I’m sure he could-”

“Would you just-”

“Actually,” He butts in, feeling very much like he was in between something he didn’t want to be in between. “If you two don’t mind I’m going to go over to that side and see if anyone else needs help.” Luckily Professor Flitwick was making his way towards Pansy’s desk, the conflict on his small radar, he’d be able to assist Terry and any other Ravenclaws that needed help. Hermione was off by herself, religiously practicing the wand movements over and over, Harry knew she wouldn’t accept his help. She didn’t need it. Pansy pulled a face of disgust, crossing her arms again. 

“Whatever.” She spun around to her desk, turning her back to Harry. He didn’t really know how to respond to her, or how to act, so he backed off towards Ron’s table instead. Dean and the other dark-skinned boy have swapped positions, Dean was now the one who looked bored. He was leaning his head against his hand and just staring at the match as if his mere gaze would change the size of it. Ron was waving his wand, but he wasn’t casting anything. His arm was swinging around as he talked animatedly with the unknown boy, who in turn was now sitting back in his own chair, his wand lazily rolling between his fingers. There was another student at his desk, but they were focused on conversing with the Gryffindor to their other side.

“Hey, guys.” Harry approached the desk from the front, it felt like they were judges on a panel and he was performing for them. All three sets of eyes were on him, and once again Ron was looking at him like he was about to do something terrible. Dean looked curious. The third boy observed silently. Something about him reminded Harry of Tom. Ron was the first to engage.

“Where’s your pet snake, Potter?”

“What?”

“Riddle.” Oh- Oh. This was about him partnering with Tom in potions. Was that what had Ron’s knickers in a twist?

“Ah, well he’s probably in his own class-”

“You two seemed friendly .” Dean cut in, tone bordering on accusatory.

“Yeah, I make it a habit to be friendly with people I just meet.” Harry shot back.

“He’s Slytherin,” Ron stated blankly as if that was supposed to mean anything to Harry. It did, he understood where Ron was coming from. But Harry Potter, the homeschooled kid, was just trying to make new friends on his first day in a big new school.

“...Yes?” He paused, he made sure to come across as confused. “And I’m Gryffindor. Everyone has a house right?” He pointed over towards the left side of the class. “Weirdly, Raven claw has an eagle as their symbol, did you know that?” Dean and boy number three shared a look, and Ron finally seemed to get what was going on.

“Listen, Potter. There are the right people to be friends with, and there are wrong people. Slytherins are the wrong sort. Parkinson is just as bad as them. You’re Gryffindor, you should stay in your own house. It’s how it is.”

“Headmaster Dumbledore never said anything like that."

“It's an unspoken rule.” Dean chipped in. All three boys agreed, nodding their heads in varying degrees.

“Ah.” He had to play this carefully. “Well thank you for telling me. I’m still getting used to all this.” He waved his hand. Ron’s demeanor shifted slightly, and he held his hand out.

“I’m Ron, Ronald Weasley. ” Harry took the hand in his, the contact didn’t make him feel as good as he’d hoped. Had Ron always been so… intense? “This here is Dean Thomas,” a cocky half-smile was thrown his way, Harry struggled to return it. “And that’s Mohammed Salman, we just call him Mo.” Mohammed simply gazed at Harry, offering him no greeting of his own. He was completely new, Harry knew nothing about this person. It didn’t feel good, not knowing. Everyone else had merely been small changes, now he was dealing with a whole new factor. 

“It’s nice to meet you all, I’m Harry Potter, you already know that- erm. Did you- Do you guys need help with the charm? I’ve learned it already, and can help.”

“Thank Merlin’s beard!” Ron shouted out, pushing away from the desk. “I’m bloody useless at charms.” Harry laughed, knowing well enough that Ron kind of sucked at everything. Ron shook his head playfully, the tension dissipated. Dean perked up a bit interested in the offer, and Mo shrugged. 

“I won’t say no to some assistance.” He had an accent that sounded almost harsh. His words were throaty. He didn’t think he’d ever heard an accent like it. Harry’s face must have betrayed his confusion, because the boy explained, “My first language is Arabic, I had to learn English when I was small. We migrated here. Sometimes I don’t know the words to things.” He spoke well, fluently. It wasn’t hard to understand Mo, just a different type of speech. 

“I’ve never heard it before, thank you for explaining it to me.” He liked it, it was unique.

“My brother says Mo sounds Egyptian, but Percy is a know-it-all. You’ll want to stay away from him. A real tosser if you ask me.” 

“You have a brother?” Before Ron could happily begin talking about himself, Dean cut in mischievously.

“He has a million brothers.” Ron was about to retort when Mo chimed in.

“And a sister, right Deany-weeny?” 

“Shut up.” Dean’s face took on a dark pink hue. Ron, Harry, and Mo all laughed in response to his knowing embarrassment. Dean covered his face and groaned, mortified. It felt nice to laugh with his best friend again. “Come on Potter, show us the charm then.” The change in subject was obvious, but Harry was happy to move on. He spent the rest of the class with these three, they were hopeless. Ron kept trying to pick Dean’s nose with his wand, Mo would just sit there and stare at Harry. He was pretty sure Dean was falling asleep with his eyes open at times. They made slow progress, and when Professor Flitwick came by, he stated that any progress was still progress. He shot Harry a look of pity however when no one else was looking. Harry was having fun though, so he didn’t mind, not really. Before he knew it, the class was over. It was time for lunch. 

The students all started packing their belongings up. Harry had left back to his own desk, Neville was all set to go. 

“Hey Neville, how’d the practice go?” The blonde seemed surprised that Harry was talking to him again.

“Oh- oh it was good. Thank y-you.” He was looking down at the floor again.

“Hey, Neville...” The chubby boy lifted his head a fraction. “Do you want to sit with me in the Great Hall?” His head flew up the rest of the way, a desperately hopeful look on his face.

“Yeah! I- I mean yes. I’d like that.” This time Neville smiled at Harry first. It was less tentative. Harry grinned back. As fun as it had been to hang out with Ron, sometimes the things he said made Harry feel bad. Neville however, was like a little beacon of light. Maybe he’d try to get to know the fellow Gryffindor better this time around. 

“Lead the way! I’m not too sure I remember how to get to the Great Hall from here.”

“Oh- of course. Yeah. I’ll show you, Harry.” They began walking. Harry pretended to not know anything and pointed out several things along the way that were intriguing. He tried to ignore how easily he found it to lie. The more Neville talked the less he stuttered, he became a little more confident with every explanation. This made guilt roll at the bottom of Harry's stomach. All Neville needed was a friend, and he’d barely paid the lad any attention. Had he seen Neville with anyone else ever? He didn’t think so. Watching the young man beside him open up, his eyes finally not downcast or sad, Harry swore to himself that he would not leave Neville behind. 

  
He was starting to think he could figure out the right sort of friends himself, and Ron didn't seem to be it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A late post. Had some family stuff to deal with so I wasn't able to finish the chapter until a half hour ago! On another note, I love Pansy Parkinson. She's a BAMF. You can't convince me otherwise. More Tom next chapter, it's been forever since we got to see him. My poor boys have been separated for too long.
> 
> Thanks for reading, see y'all tomorrow.


	8. Tom finally gets a break

The moment he rounded the corner, Tom had felt immediate inner turmoil. He couldn’t believe he had to let Harry go without him. How was he to keep Harry’s knowledge to himself when he wasn’t able to keep him around at all times? It was not sustainable. The only way would be to convince Harry that he was his only trustworthy ally. Dumbledore was crafty, quite cunning in his own ways. Tom had no doubts that the old man would try to use Harry to better their world, for the greater good. The thought made Tom gag. The parallels were close enough that anything Harry knew could be taken with interest. It was too bad that Harry was an idiot. Tom couldn’t trust him. The other boy was too open, his face showed everything, revealed everything. Tom doubted he could tell a simple lie without giving himself away. The only way was to keep Harry away from others, or perhaps keep others away from Harry. He knew people, he could pull strings. Someone could start rumors, maybe depicting Harry in a less than desirable way. It would indeed make his life easier if he was the only one Harry could turn to, the only one he could lean on. Metaphorically, of course, he didn’t want Harry touching him. He didn’t like to be touched. 

“Ah Riddle, early again I see.” Tom threw his book bag onto his desk and began arranging his items meticulously. No one shared a desk with him, so he could have it just the way he liked it. He ignored Professor McGonagall and lined up his parchment to match the edge of the desk. It looked better straight. “ Might I have a wee word with you?” Tom turned finally and acknowledged his Professor. The stern woman was standing by her own large desk, hands folded in front of her. She was wearing dark green tartan robes, old fashioned. Her hair, as always, was pulled into a tight bun that sat properly on top of her head. Tom wondered what it would feel like to rip it out. She lowered her head slightly at Tom, and he nodded politely. “I heard you’d been traversin’ around the restricted section again.” She didn’t sound all that upset, but Tom found it hard to judge people's emotions sometimes.

“I only got lost, Professor I-” She held her hand up, already looking at him dubiously. Tom clenched his jaw, feeling his own shoulders tense.

“You needn’t lie to me, Tom.” She looked at him over her glasses, then reached behind her and pulled out an old brown tome. It was the one Tom had tried to swipe from the library. He stared at it, not feeling one ounce of shame. “There’s a reason books like this are kept away from young prying eyes.” The book was a handwritten recollection of different Blood Magic rituals, a list of obscure names lost in the past. He had blackmailed a seventh-year student for a list of similar books last week. Summer Boistine would have failed her 6th-year N.E.W.T. Potions class without the help of Angelo Raven, another Slytherin with a knack for essays. Tom had overheard Raven’s idiotically timed boast to his friend in the common room and stored it away for later. He had finally used it when telling Boistine he needed a list of the books in the restricted section that had any relevance to Blood Magic. The Slytherin had been desperate to shut Tom up and had been able to get a pass to the section within hours, and got to work. The list had only a handful of names, as Blood Magic was not often used. It was claimed to be barbaric by most wizards of Britain, a branch that resembled voodoo too much for someone's liking. After reading the list, Tom just had to see them for himself. He spent an entire evening in the library concocting a plan. He tricked a young Hufflepuff into singing loudly just outside the library, promising that the painting would give her candy if she sang loud and for long enough. This took away Madam Pince’s attention, giving Tom ample time to search for at least one of the titles. “Shorn’s Recollections of Blood Rituals: Notes” was the one he came across, and he had planned to hide it in his pants, using his belt to hold the large book in place while he left. 

What he had not planned for, was that the rope used to cut off the section from the rest of the library had some sort of detection charm attached to it, and Madam Pince was alerted when books left the vicinity of the restricted section. The ropes themselves started giving off a horrid high pitched sound, almost like a metal detector. The book, which he had stuffed along his backside, began to burn fiercely. He raced to remove it, and in the heat of panic threw the book back into the restricted section. It soared over the rope and thumped loudly against the floor. It was pathetically out of place, and Tom knew he had to leave the vicinity immediately. Righting his robes he walked briskly away from the section, he had thought he’d gotten away with almost getting the book. Leaving no evidence. Apparently, he was wrong, and Pince was able to figure out it was he who had trespassed. What he couldn’t figure out was why he was having this conversation with McGonagall instead of his own Head of House. He looked down at his shoes, playing the part of a red-handed thief. He was only sorry that he was caught.

“I think I know why ye did it. I cannae say for certain though.” She sighed, disappointed. “What happened to yer father was horrid, Tom. You shouldn't have been subjected to that, never told about it the way it were. But this,” She held up the book, “Int’ going to help you understand the workings of a madman.” But it will, he thought hard. He knew of the runes carved into his father's flesh, he knew the strange symbols drawn with blood along their walls. He had heard countless times how the scene was laid out, how he was found. How Mordancy left him alive, a small babe, and began spreading his demented theory of Tom being his truest enemy. What he didn’t know was what the actual ritual was, and what it did. What if it had put some sort of curse on Tom? Or perhaps was used to give Mordancy perilous powers, unknown to the majority of the world? He needed to know. How was the ritual related to the prophecy? A prophecy he was told had been made when Mordancy was still in school. It had been unknown to both of them, sitting in the Hall of Prophecies for years. As far as anyone could tell, Mordancy had never come to collect it. So how did he know about it? 

Tom assumed the ritual used gave Mordancy the ability to see or hear the prophecy, but only because it was Tom who was the second factor. He was supposed to die that night. He could feel it. He dreamt about it. But something happened, and Mordancy fled instead. That book could be a step towards answers, instead of these infinite questions.

“I only want to know. Is that so wrong ?” He allowed his tone to sound pleading and gave McGonagall the face he’d give his Grandmother when he’d get into trouble. Innocent, lost. The harsh lines on her face softened. Her mouth pursed a bit while she lifted her free hand, adjusting her glasses.

“Nay, Tom. Int’ wrong to want to know, to understand. I just- wish it could be different .” The tall woman began to walk towards Tom. She held the book out, using both hands to hold onto it. Tom couldn’t believe what was happening, and his fingers itched to grab. To hide, to snatch it and run. Swallowing the feeling of his compulsion, Tom reached out slowly. He felt the brown leather under the pads of his fingers, yet did not pull. “Yer a smart lad, Tom. Responsible, and usually follow the rules. I’m hoping my trust willnae be treated lightly.” Tom forced his surprised eyes off the book and lifted the corners of his mouth. A small, timid smile. Like how he’d seen younger kids do. 

“Of course. Thank you- I very much appreciate it, Professor.” The old woman's hands finally let go, and Tom felt pure glee tumble in his throat as he brought the book to his chest.

“Headmaster Dumbledore has expressed to me the need for ye to understand what yer going up against. Had a madman not been after yer life, I would have disagreed.” Tom’s strange gratefulness turned into slighted disgust. Of course, Dumbledore was behind it, he always was. He was always pushing Tom, pulling strings behind the curtains to make him actively oppose the Dark Lord and take his position of the Chosen One seriously. The Headmaster was misguided on this matter, Tom had no want to get mixed up with Dark Lords. He wanted to secure his own future, to become the best him he could be. Powerful. If he was able to bypass the prophecy, to ignore it, he may be able to live without the constant fear of premature death on his back. To begin this, however, he needed to know more. Without the rest of the equation, Tom had no hope of finding the answer.

“Thank you, again.” He wanted this conversation to end, he still had a bit of time before class started and he wanted to start looking through it. Given a slight tilt of her head, Tom took his leave. 

“I expect that book back by the end of the weekend Mr. Riddle.” That was fine by him, it gave Tom all of Saturday to read it, plus a bit of Sunday as well. His first step would be to write down the names of any relevant rituals, he would simply copy down whole pages if need be. Today was starting to look a hell of a lot better. The brunette sat at his desk and opened the cover. After sorting through a couple of pages, Tom realized he’d have his work cut out for him, as it really was just a huge compilation of notes. There was no index, no glossary. Some of the writing was difficult to read, and there were Latin words he didn’t recognize. He would need all of tomorrow to make sense of any of it. This was a challenge he’d happily accept. 

Class started before he knew it, students from Slytherin and Hufflepuff setting up at their own desks. He hadn't noticed the class fill up, caught in the throws of the book, and his own thinking. Placing his newly acquired tome into his bookbag, Tom got ready to sit through a tediously boring class. He had already mastered the incantation Reparifarge and was hoping he’d be allowed to advance faster and start working on Spongify, a softening charm. The answer would probably be no, so Tom would take it into his own hands and figure it out. It seemed how it was meant to go. Some of the other Hogwarts professors had mentioned Tom being able to sit in on classes with older students, but Dumbledore had shot it down very quickly. Tom was supposed to stay with his own year, and expected to be more social. He was being punished academically because Dumbledore wanted him to make friends. That's how he saw it. It wasn’t even his fault that the kids didn’t want to converse with him, they were the ones who ostracized him first. Forgive him if he was hesitant to get along with people who openly despised him. 

Tom didn’t need friends. 

Tom didn’t need anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom is very smart academically, but he is socially stunted. Social skills are just as important as any others. You have to actually TALK to other kids Tom, blackmail doesn't count.
> 
> I found it hard to start this chapter but had a lot of fun in the end. If anyone is confused, Dumbledore is trying to get Tom to become a little savior. He allowed Harry to get into many dangerous adventures, so it doesn't seem far-fetched to me. Know-thy-enemy and all that jazz. Because of Tom's antisocial behavior, Dumbledore has had to try harder to get Tom to accept his foretold future.
> 
> See y'all later-gaterz.


	9. Mashed or roasted potatoes, Harry?

Because of Harry’s need to keep up his charade, he and Neville took longer to get to lunch. Neville made quite a good guide, and Harry would think he would be amazing at helping first years. Because of Neville’s lonesome first year, and start to second, he was able to wander more often. Finding hidden places, talking with portraits. Neville admitted that he sometimes talked to the ghosts because they got lonely sometimes too. Nearly Headless Nick showed him how to get to the kitchens one time in first year when he had been too nervous to go into the Great Hall. When Harry continued to show interest in Neville’s first year, the other boy began talking about his favorite class. Apparently, Neville was passionate about magical plants, he didn’t mind magical creatures as well, but he was often too afraid to go near them. His Gran had told him once that animals could smell your fear and would choose you as prey before anyone else. Harry tried to convince him otherwise, but Neville just shrugged his shoulders. He spent the rest of the walk talking about the different effects slugs had on plants, and how he was extremely excited to learn about the leaping toadstools. Harry had no idea what he was talking about, so he simply nodded and smiled.

They had turned a couple of corners after leaving the moving stairs and were now walking into the Great Hall. The scene before him had been one he’d seen many times. It was full of students, some loudly speaking while others had their heads dipped while they ate quietly. Harry looked over to the Slytherin table, but could not see Tom. Neville too looked over to the sea of green.

“You’ll want to sit over here, Harry.” And he led the shorter boy to the Gryffindor table. Ron and his crew had been towards the middle of the table, but Neville decided to sit near the end, closer to the doors.” They took their seats, across from each other. There were students on both sides of them, and they peered at Harry curiously. He just smiled at them, not really feeling up to talking. He looked over to Neville, who had suddenly gone still.

“Hey, whats-”

“Potter.” A clipped tone greeted to his right. Harry turned his head and his eyes met Tom’s. He’d remember his revelation about how it felt to be regarded with immediate hostility. He could be nice to Tom, he could be really nice to Tom. It might give him a hilarious reaction to the mood change. He smiled and patted the bench beside him.

“Hey, Tom. Come sit with us.” He offered, thinking it funny. There was no way - Neville sputtered loudly when Tom actually took his offer and began sitting next to Harry. Tom took his seat with etiquette and daintily placed a napkin onto his lap. 

“How was class?” Tom asked politely and began piling food onto his plate. Harry’s eyes squinted slightly, but he decided to keep playing along. Harry cleared his throat.

“They were awesome. I’ve met so many wonderful people.” He sat up straighter. “This is Neville!” Neville’s eyes grew three times bigger than normal, he looked quite pale too. “He’s a Gryffindor as well, and sat with me during charms!” Tom looked up from his plate filling and regarded Neville with a passive disinterest.

“Yes, I know Longbottom.” He explained shortly, raising an eyebrow. He then took Harry’s plate from its spot. Before Harry could call out in discontent, Tom turned to him and held up a fork. “Would you like mashed or roasted potatoes, Harry?” He gawked at the other boy, but a glint of a challenge was in Tom’s eyes. It was like he was saying ‘two can play at this game’. Harry regarded his choices, looking to the differently prepared spuds.

“Mashed, please.” Tom hummed and began filling his plate. Neville was looking between the two of them as if something bad was about to happen. They had gathered a bit of an audience. Actually, pretty much the entire student body was staring at them. It wasn’t every day a Slytherin sat at the Gryffindor table, and it wasn’t everyday Tom Riddle actually spoke to people. The Gryffindors that had been sitting at the end of the table had all started to migrate away from the trio. Tom acted as if he didn’t notice. Harry’s eyes followed them, and Neville definitely picked it up, his face turned a deep red and he was ducked down again. Tom handed Harry his now filled plate, it looked very much like Tom’s with a healthy heap of veggies, starch, and then slices of roast beef. He had just begun to take a bite when a figure appeared behind Neville.

“Riddle.” Tom however continued to chew, regarding the older student as he did with Neville. “You can’t sit here.”

“Oh? I was under the impression that benches were made for sitting. ” The bigger boy flushed angrily.

“You know what I mean. You aren’t welcome here.” A couple of the Gryffindors who were brave enough to sit nearby had all nodded their heads in agreement. Neville hadn’t reacted, merely sitting like he’d been petrified. He didn’t do well with conflict.

“I was invited by my friend, so I think I am very much welcomed here.” He responded, and then took a bite out of a very green piece of broccoli. He didn’t look like he was going to move at all, and in fact, looked quite cozy. The older boy’s eyes flickered over to Harry, and Harry just shrugged. 

“I did invite him to join us. Didn’t I, Neville?” At his name, the boy started. He looked up to Harry, and when he received an encouraging smile he nodded.

“Y-yeah. He was invited.” Came the meek response. An annoyed scoff left the throat of the older Gryffindor.

“Well, the rest of the table wants you to leave.”

“The rest of the table is free to go sit somewhere else. I’m fine right here.” He took a haughty sip of his orange juice. There were a couple more Gryffindors that joined in, now starting a small half circle around the trio. Harry suddenly felt very claustrophobic. Their faces looked nasty, and Harry couldn’t remember them looking so vicious before.

“Is there a problem here, Mr. Brunt?” Came a very peeved sounding McGonagall. All eyes were on her except Harry and Tom, who still sat with their backs to her. Tom continued to eat his lunch at a leisurely pace. Harry turned around and looked over his shoulder to the stern-looking woman. She stood incredibly tall, with her fingers interlaced in front of her. Her mouth was twisted to the side, like when she caught students doing the wrong thing. She had a bit of a blush on her cheeks, and Harry realized she was embarrassed about her house's reaction. He turned back around and watched the boy.

“Uh- no. No professor.” Felix Brunt replied he had shrunk in his position.

“Then ye best get back to yer seat, hmm? Lunch only lasts for so long .” The tall boy curtly nodded, sending a dirty look towards Harry and Tom before turning away and walking back to where he had been sitting. The group behind him dispersed as well. McGonagall watched them with an obviously displeased eye. She turned back to the trio, and Harry looked up to her once again. “Ah, ye must be the newest lion! Mr. Potter, I’m Professor McGonagall. I teach transfiguration, and I’m also the head of Gryffindor.” Harry smiled warmly up at her.

“Thank you, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Quite,” She sent back a short smile, her eyes flickered to the back of Tom’s head, and then she continued. “Should ye need anything, do not hesitate to come to me. My door is always open.” Another exchange of smiles and the professor left back to her own table, leaving the boys to their own devices.

“Well, that was a shit show,” Harry muttered, and Neville looked up at him in surprise. Tom snorted but tried to hide it by taking another bite of his roast beef. Harry smiled apologetically to the blonde. “Sorry, I guess I’m just used to speaking my mind. Homeschool brain and all.” He waved distractedly, playing it off. 

“Eat, Harry,” Tom said before taking another drink of his juice. Harry looked over to Tom, green meeting brown. “McGonagall was right, lunch is only so long. Eat.” He reached over and moved Harry’s plate closer to him. Harry was being coddled.

“Yes, mother. ” This elicited a glare from Tom and a quiet chortle from Neville. Tom turned his glare to the other boy, Neville’s small smile dropped off his face and he looked down to his lap. “Don’t give Neville grief, you have to be nice to him too if you want to be my friend, Tom. ” If anyone had told Tom that his first self-proclaimed friends would be two Gryffindors who didn’t share even a single brain cell combined, he’d have stabbed them with his fork.

“Of course, Harry.” He sent his most charming smile towards the other boy. “Neville, can I call you Neville? ” The meek boy flinched at his name, and Tom took it as a nod. “You can call me Tom.” Neville looked up through his eyelashes. “I promise I won’t bite . Any friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine. ” It was the most insincere thing Harry had ever heard, but it seemed to work on Neville.

“O-oh. OK. Thanks. Tom.” A short nod was all Tom offered.

“We are going to study after classes in the library, you may join us if you’d like.” It took Harry a second to realize that he was the we.

“Wait- when did I agree to this?” he turned to Tom incredulously. “Maybe I want Neville to show me around more. I still have to be shown the Gryffindor common room.” 

“This will show you where the library is.” Tom countered. “There will be plenty of time for Neville to show you around after we study for a bit. Not to mention, tomorrow is Friday. Which means you’ll have all weekend to explore after classes. Isn’t that right Neville ?” He turned the other Gryffindor, and Neville fervently nodded.

“Y-yeah. We can spend the w-weekend going around the castle, Harry.” 

“See.” 

“I guess,” Harry grumbled, unimpressed. He stabbed at a piece of broccoli, pretending it was Tom’s hand. 

\---------------------------

The rest of the meal break was quite uneventful. The older Gryffindors stayed away from them, and Tom made polite conversation with both boys. He stayed mostly quiet, only adding to the topic when he had something relevant to say. The next class they had was History of Magic, and it was Slytherins and Gryffindors. Tom would be the one to sit with Harry. He wasn’t happy to see the new budding friendship between Harry and Longbottom. He must have been friends with the boy in his world and wanted to rekindle it. Longbottom wasn’t a threat per-say, but it put a wrench into his plans of isolating Harry. The events that transpired at lunch would keep other Gryffindors away, as Harry was now a pariah. This was his plan with sitting at that table, showing an obvious connection and Harry would be seen as a traitor in his own house. To be friends with a Slytherin? It was despicable. There may be repercussions on both sides, but he wanted to make it very clear that Harry was his. Then no one else would want him. It was perfect.

Except for Longbottom. The boy annoyed the living hell out of Tom. How had the boy survived past infancy? As much as Tom enjoyed it when people feared him, this boy had no spine whatsoever. A butterfly would scare him. What did Harry see in him? Was that a secret that he didn’t know yet? Had Longbottom been secretly powerful this entire time? He must. To be picked as a companion from literally any other Gryffindor. He’d keep a close eye on Neville. A very close eye.

“Alright, let's get to class before everyone starts leaving. I want a good seat.'' Harry groaned into his mashed potatoes. Neville, now flustered, began panicking at where his bag was and hurriedly tried to swing it over his head. All he ended up doing was strangling himself. He almost laughed, but a sharp look from Harry made him smile slyly instead. He stood up and used his taller stature to look down at Harry. Harry simply looked up at Tom and rolled his eyes before standing. He hadn’t a bag yet. The three began to leave the Great Hall, and Harry just wished for the day to be over, so he could lay in his bed again. Tom wished for the day to end quickly, so he could keep looking through his book. Neville just wanted to make it through class without dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey dudes, sorry for the wait! This chapter was hard to write for some reason. It will pick up the next chapter, promise! Another look into the Dark Lord, and then some more Harry-Tom banter.


	10. Mordancy and his Strange Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hihihi, here's another chapter. Hope you're all doing alright, enjoyyyy!

That night, the Dark Lord felt like something was off. He felt a buzz under his skin, and he could taste roast beef on his tongue. He hadn’t even eaten today. While the rest of the night continued, he felt obnoxious nostalgia. He couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, and it was driving him up the wall.

“Is this you?” He whispered.

“Is what me, Master?” Mordancy spun around and glared at the corner of his room.

“These feelings-these…” He was finding it very hard to find the words he needed. “Moments of strange happenings.” The black spot in the wall fluttered curiously. “It’s like I’m somewhere else, while I’m also here. ”

“Where else are you, Master?” It asked, now separating itself from the wall. Death floated towards the distressed man. Mordancy clenched his jaw and wrapped his arms around himself. He swallowed hard before whispering,

“Home. ” The moments kept happening, and they became distracting. He could feel the chill from the stone walls, he could smell Hogwarts at dinner time. He could taste chicken and hear chattering happening around him. He had been in his room, isolating himself. Death assured him that no, his brain hadn’t been decaying, that this wasn’t an effect from being so close to it. The entity kept asking questions, but the Dark Lord found it hard to articulate. He ended up only nodding or shaking his head. He was reduced to nothing but a mute bobble-head. 

“Harry.” Came a very distinct voice. A child's voice. It was in his head, yet he could hear it through his ears. He tried to focus on it, maybe recognize it. But he couldn’t. No one had called him his name in so long, not since- No. He wasn’t going to think about it. It would only bring pain and misery to think of it. He startled himself when he stated out loud,

“I don’t want to study.” Mordancy’s hand flew to his mouth, and he held himself very still. Where had it come from? He had not chosen to say that.

“Stop this!” He shouted suddenly. This time it was him. He had to do something, this had to stop. “I demand you stop this at once!” He screamed, only feeling silly for a second. Then he had an intense feeling of shock, confusion, fear. But it wasn’t his. The strange in between he had been feeling disappeared, and he stood there feeling a strange emptiness. His outburst had worked, but why? The Dark Lord stood up straight, he would not let this beat him. 

“Death.” He called clearly. His strange companion floated up through the floor in front of him. “I command you to find the source of this.” A strange black tethered line connected the two beings in the room, once it faded away, Death held a bony hand to where it’s heart would be if it had one.

“Of course, Master.” The black figure dispersed into fog going every which way. It left a cold cloud in its wake, and Mordancy refused to shiver. He hadn’t used his power so forcefully in so long. Being able to make Death do his bidding left a sour taste in his mouth. Now that he had a break from whatever strange phenomenon had occurred, the Dark Lord decided it would be best to eat something, then he would bathe and go to sleep. It had been so long since he’d slept.

\----------------------------------

That night Harry dreamed of a dark figure swirling towards him. It had a skeletal hand reaching out for him, it was an actual skeleton hand. It wasn’t Voldemort’s skinny, bony talons. He couldn’t see much else, as the air around his body was smoky, a dark haze. He couldn’t move his body at all like he was paralyzed. The hand tried to make contact with his scar, but just before it touched him Harry had sat straight up in bed. He was screaming. Harry quickly closed his mouth and placed a hand over his heart to try and calm himself. His borrowed nightshirt from Neville clung to his chest, and his fringe hung low on his brows. 

“Harry?” Came a whisper. “Are- are you alright?” Harry let out a ragged breath and swallowed the last of his fear.

“Yeah. Sorry, Neville.” He whispered back. Ron had ceased his snoring, so he was awake as well. All the other boys had probably been woken up by him. “Sorry guys. I have bad dreams about Vol- You-know-who.” He corrected himself. His wet shirt was cooling and he got a chill. He didn’t want to try and sleep again, something about this nightmare felt too real. Harry got up quietly, he grabbed his wand from under his pillow and picked up his discarded robes from yesterday. Today he would be going to Diagon Alley with Dumbledore to pick up supplies. Harry headed for the door, he was going to sit in the common room. While closing the door slowly he heard a whisper from Dean.

“Where is he going?” He hadn’t waited to listen for a response and closed the door completely. They could talk about him if they wanted. Casting a Lumos he lit the small hallway and led himself down the spiral stairs to the common room. No one else would be awake, so he’d just change in there. The fireplace lit itself when he crossed the threshold, and he extinguished his own light. He had been feeling weird ever since the situation in the library. Tom had dragged both he and Neville after classes, and after being pestered multiple times while sitting and doing nothing but staring at his borrowed text he had complained in response to Tom telling him to read a certain chapter. One he’d already read before.

“I don’t want to study.” He had replied and went to cross his arms. Then suddenly he felt this strange compulsion and sat up straight, only to yell out. “Stop this! I demand you stop this at once!” Harry didn’t know what was going on. He had startled everyone else as well. Neville was wide-eyed and had shifted away from Harry. Tom was looking at him like he’d been about to pull his wand out and curse him. He hadn’t meant to say that, and he had no idea as to where it came from. He was frightened. Why did all the strange things have to happen to him? Shortly after his outburst, the librarian Madam Pince had come up to them. Harry couldn’t remember feeling so ashamed. Tom had quickly interfered and lied about upsetting the new boy. Madam Pince had scolded them both and gave a warning. 

“If you’s want to be here, you will keep your voices down .” After she waddled away, Tom had turned to him with a strange glint in his eye. He looked like he badly wanted to say something, but his composer went back to normal after glancing towards Neville.

“Neville, could you please go grab me the book Seventies Crafts: A Potion Book for All Purposes?” The timid boy nodded minutely and hurried away. Tom turned to Harry once again. “What was that? What just happened?” Tom felt for a moment that it may have been a prophecy, maybe Harry was a seer? Harry began to play with the dead skin along his fingernails, picking at loose pieces.

“I don’t know. I have no idea .” He tugged at a flap of skin and pulled it, he felt a sharp pin of pain, and the crease between his thumb and nail began pooling with a bit of blood. Harry ignored it. “I don’t know why I said that - I don’t know, Tom .” The taller boy ‘tsked', and reached over the table. Harry allowed the boy to take his hand and watched as Tom observed his small wound. 

“Don’t hurt yourself like that, you’ll get an infection. Idiot. ” Tom pulled out his wand and muttered a quick Episkey. The small divot closed itself, and Harry watched as Tom flipped his hand over this way and that, looking for other possible wounds. Tom’s hands felt nice, not clammy or cold like he’d think. “We will talk tomorrow about it. No harm done.” Was said, and Tom flashed him a charming smile. Harry couldn’t muster up any motivation to return it but simply nodded.

“Thanks.” Just then Neville came back around a shelf and he looked put out.

“I-I couldn’t find it, Tom. I’m so- sorry. .” Tom wasn’t expecting the boy to find it, because he currently had the only copy up in his dorm room.

“That’s quite alright. Thank you for looking. Let’s go over the key components in the Girding Potion.” This elicited a groan from Harry and a panicked look from Neville. Tom ignored both in favor of opening his textbook to the correct page.

Other than that, the rest of the night had been quite normal. Other than the weird dream that is. Harry sat on the floor, in front of the fireplace. He sluggishly got changed, not minding his temporary nakedness. He slipped on the worn robe, and sat by the fire, hoping to warm his chilled bones. The dream had been cold. He would have been able to see his breath if he could breathe. His chest began aching, and he used the heel of his palm to press soothing circles into his sternum. He’d seen his aunt do that to Dudley when he had heartburn. Harry wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, crouched to the fire soothing himself. But at some point, he felt like there was someone else there, a presence. It was strange and hard to describe. He felt like someone else was watching the fire with him, and his hand was rubbing at the chest of someone else as well. He felt incredibly old and tired for moments, then young the next. He could feel a strange cramping sensation at his joints, foreign pain gnawing at him. It would come in waves, and Harry sat there feeling it. He had always been a small child for his age, because of malnutrition stunting his growth, but he could swear his ribs protruded from his body at sharper angles, without needing to see them.

These feelings lasted less than a minute, yet came back periodically. He felt like he was in a dark, almost empty room, yet he knew that he was here in the Gryffindor common room. He was staring at the fire, yet sometimes he couldn’t feel the heat from it. 

What was happening to him?

\----------------------------------

Mordancy laid in bed, he felt a strange heat and gravitate towards it. He too was feeling the strange limbo, of being somewhere but also here. It was familiar, and he didn’t fight it. It was like he was back at home, enjoying the comfort of the red room. He felt young again, his arms seemed bare from carvings, the pull of skin no longer taunt across his bones.

“What is happening to me?” A clear voice rang out, and Mordancy felt the voice more than he heard it. It had come from in his head, but also not. There was a tickling sensation above his brow, and Mordancy reached up to touch it.

“Who are you?” He questioned softly, not wanted to frighten the voice away like last time. He felt shock roll through this connection, and he could now pinpoint the exact spot. It felt like a small object had been placed just on his brain, one that couldn’t be seen, but he could tell it was there. 

“I’m Harry.” Was it? Was this truly himself? Death had told him he needn’t worry about losing his mind so soon, but this was proof that the Dark Lord was utterly and completely broken. “Is this… Is this Tom?” A strange twist of hope and curiosity fed through.

“No. I am not... Tom .” Disappointment.

“Oh, I thought-” A pause. “Never mind. It was silly. Who are you then?”

“I am... Mor-”

“Master.” The link between the two closed quickly, fear of the coldness surfaced before it was sucked away through a small tube. Mordancy grieved the feeling of wholeness.

“What?” He hissed into the darkness. His room was pitch black, there were no windows here.

“I’ve found the source of your… happenings.” Mordancy was sure the being would laugh at him, then tell him that he was indeed losing his mind. “It seems you have a Horcrux.” Mordancy’s heart stopped beating for a second.

“No. I very well do not .”

“But you do, Master. I watched him sleep.”

“Him?”

“It’s attached to a small boy. A green-eyed Gryffindor, who currently resides in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” His eyes flashed to the familiar smells and feelings. “You seem to have been reborn, while you still live.”

“Impossible. You must be mistaken. ” He whispered into the room.

“I am not. Because he too is the **Master of Death** .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUN.
> 
> More will be explained in the upcoming chapters. Death doesn't know everything, no one really does. But essentially, Harry Potter and Mordancy are classified as the same exact person. So both hold the title of Master of Death currently. Think of it like a person with 200% of a soul being split into two bodies. Same soul, different meat sack.


	11. Harry actually learns something

Harry could barely keep his eyes open by the time other students trickled down the common room stairs. He didn’t get another wink of sleep that night. He had stayed awake stuck between wanting the voice to come back, and for it to stay away if it was going to continue to bring the coldness. Harry was confused about what was going on, and he could have sworn he was talking to the older Tom from his time. But the voice said he wasn’t. He would have known who it was if that feeling hadn’t encompassed his hands, he felt numb from the cold so quickly and abruptly. It had made him physically pull away, which in turn had pulled him away from the feeling in his head. Harry knew it had to do with his scar because it started to hurt again. It wasn’t as bad as it had gotten with Quirrelmort, but enough to cause him discomfort. 

“-alright Potter?” brought him back from his thoughts. He looked up to Mohammed. The dark-skinned boy was leaning against the armrest of the chair closest to him, his eyes searching Harry’s face.

“Yeah. Thanks. Just had a bad night.”

“I ‘ad a rough time my first night too.” He said, then started to stand up. “Almost time for food, walk with me?” Harry’s eyes widened and he felt himself nod. He didn’t think Mo had liked him very much, not that he minded, Harry wasn’t the most popular in his own world anyway. Mo held out his hand.

“I- Sure. I’d like that, thanks.” He took the offered hand and was pulled up to his feet. The other boy didn’t release his hand right away though and gave him a quick squeeze. It sent heat to Harry’s cheeks, and he tried not to think about how warm the other boy was.

“You don’t need to face it all alone.” Was all that was said before he was let go of. Harry couldn’t look into the other Gryffindors eyes, he only nodded in response. Mohammed had his bag and was ready to go, Harry hadn’t anything except his wand to bother with. They began the quiet walk to the Great hall. Harry wondered briefly what it would be like to hold Mo’s hand again, but he shoved that thought to the very back of his mind. Halfway to the hall, Mo piped up and started asking Harry some very odd, very specific questions.

“What do you think about runes, Potter?” The raven-haired boy chalked it up to friendly chatter that might feel weird because of Mohammed’s language barrier. He shrugged.

“I’ve heard about it, but it’s not really my cup of tea.”

“Oh? What about wizard traditions, which is your favorite?”

“Wizard traditions?” He asked slowly, he hadn’t really paid any attention to that sort of thing, as he was raised in a muggle home.

“Yule, Samhain, Beltane?”

“Ah-no. We never really celebrated those kinds of things.”

“But you were taught at home? Did your parents dislike them?” Oh crap. Think, Harry, think.

“My mom was a muggle-born.” He admitted. “So we celebrated muggle traditions mostly, with the family you see.” He tried to explain.

“Ah.” Mohammed looked contemplative. “I get it. My parents still like to practice in our Islamic holidays. Like Ramadan or Al-Hijra, our New Year.” Harry felt his nerves deflate and nodded his head. “I saw you sitting with Riddle yesterday, you two seem close. ”

“Er-ah. Yeah.” The heat rose to his face again. “I guess he was my first friend here, a bit of a git really.” Mo laughed, he had really nice teeth.

“Yes, he’s not easy to get along with.” 

“You kind of remind me of him.” Mo’s lip twitched and Harry rushed to explain. “It’s just- you’re both a bit quiet. You like to observe before diving in. Unlike me or Ron, we don’t really think before speaking most of the time.”

“I was taught to speak when I have something to add.” Mo nodded, he didn’t seem to be upset with Harry’s comparison. “The difference between Riddle and I is that I do it out of respect. He does it to scheme.” Mo’s tone wasn’t condescending, not harsh like Ron’s. It was Harry’s turn to laugh.

“He does seem to scheme a lot, huh?”

“Yes. As long as he is kind to you, then I will not have a problem with him.” Harry shot a grateful look at the other boy. He had gotten Mo all wrong.

“He can be a pain, but he hasn’t really done anything unkind to me. I think I’ll be alright.” They entered the Great Hall, and both headed to the Gryffindor table. “He’ll probably want to sit with me again,” Harry warned as Mo chose the seat to his immediate left.

“I’m not easily scared away, Potter.” He replied. Harry scrunched his nose up.

“You can just call me Harry.”

“Ah, Mo then.” The boys began piling breakfast onto their plates, they were joined as Harry reached for the bacon.

“Good morning, Harry .” Came Tom’s voice from his right and Harry waved his fork in greeting. “.. Salman,” Mo responded with a polite nod.

“Riddle.” Harry was moving his bacon to make room for a link of sausage and missed the look of disdain that crossed Tom’s face, and the look of strange confidence Mo had. Mohammed's lip twitched, and Tom’s eyes slightly narrowed. He took the seat directly to Harry’s right and sat a bit closer than he needed to.

“How was your night, Harry?” Tom asked, then he reached over to help himself to one of the small breakfast sausages on Harry’s plate.

“It was- Hey! ” Harry tried to grab for the piece of meat, but Tom was too fast. He laughed and tried to shield his plate. “It was OK.” Tom reached for another sausage, and Harry batted his hands away. “Stop! These are mine, get your own.” Tom feigned a look of hurt, his hand losing its give to flop sadly in the air. Harry laughed again. What was even going on? “OK! You can share mine, but stop looking at me like that.” 

“No, I don’t want it anymore.” Tom sniffed and started filling his own plate.

“You’re such a child.” Harry teased. He watched as Tom meticulously sorted his food. “Actually, something did happen last night.” He whispered. Tom’s hand stopped its reach for a hard-boiled egg and he leaned in slightly. “I- we should talk about it after though .” Tom gave a curt nod. Inside he was waving his fists in victory. Harry wanted to talk to Tom, alone. He was going to confide in him. Not Longbottom, and not Salman. Tom definitely did not like this new development, he did not like the look nor the attitude of the other boy. He was going to be a problem.

“You’ll be going to Diagon Alley today, correct?” Tom asked. He knew the answer already and sent a gloating look over Harry’s head towards Salman because Harry told him things.

“Yeah. The Headmaster said we’ll be going after breakfast. So I’ll be missing Herbology with the Hufflepuff's.” He thought for a second before continuing. “I should be back in time for Defense. It’s double with your lot.”

“My lot?”

“Yeah, you know-”

“My, my, Harry. Are you being prejudiced?” Harry sent a half glare towards Tom, he was awarded a cheeky smile.

“Ah, Harry.” Mo lightly bumped his shoulder, and Harry spun around. He was met with Dumbledore's twinkling eyes.

“Oh, Headmaster. Hello.”

“Hello, Harry. Tom, Mohammed .” He tilted his head and smiled at all three of the boys. “I hope you two don’t mind, I’ll be stealing away Harry for a while.” Tom’s leg began bouncing under the table, a nervous habit he had trained out of himself. Apparently not.

“I’ll see you in Defense, Harry,” Tom stated shortly, back to his very cold self. The change took Harry off guard, they had been having such a good time, and Tom was finally in an actual good mood for once. The taller boy left before Harry could even respond. Mo sent him a look, but Harry ignored it.

“Are we going then?” Harry hadn’t finished his breakfast, but he assumed the Headmaster wished to get this over with. He was probably a busy man.

“Yes, it would seem so. We’ve been given a special audience with Ollivander, and have been asked to come in early. Finding the right wand can take some time for some wizards.” Surely Harry would be able to get a wand that actually liked him. He wondered if his own wand would be there, or if its counterpart was being held by the other Harry Potter. The one that seemed to spook Dumbledore. Harry Potter from this world wasn’t a good person. Something about that made Harry feel sick to his stomach. He stood from his seat and sent an apologetic look to Mohammed.

“See you in Defense then.” Mo cocked his head and nodded politely. Harry followed Dumbledore towards the doors of the hall. “How will we be getting there sir? The Floo?” He asked, not wanting it to be the case. Harry was terrible with it. He had such bad luck and always ended up on his butt or somewhere he didn’t belong. The Headmaster held his dark blue sleeve out and smiled down at the boy.

“No Harry, we will be apparating.” At his confused expression, Dumbledore tilted his head. “It is a kind of magical transportation that allows the user to traverse from one place to another almost instantly, without needing to travel the space between.”

“That’s brilliant. Like teleporting!” Dumbledore simply wiggled his finger on his outstretched hand. Harry hesitantly reached out and grabbed hold of the silky material. Dumbledore was wearing a deep navy robe with moving silver stars and moons on it. His vision went black, and Harry felt like he was being pushed into himself from all angles. Like he was being squeezed through a tight opening. IT ended as quickly as it began, and he felt himself stumble as his surroundings changed with a flourish. “Oh no-” He felt like he was going to throw up. The Headmaster held onto Harry’s robes, however, not allowing him to fall over. 

“Ah yes. That is another reason I disrupted your breakfast, Harry. Side-apparition can induce nausea. It affects some more than others.” Harry didn’t speak, because he would puke if he opened his mouth. He slowly nodded his head while breathing in through his nose. The Headmaster let go of Harry and allowed the boy to stand on his own. “I do believe we are being waved over.” Harry looked up from the cobblestone road and found that they were right outside of Ollivander’s. The old man in the window was plastered to it like a lizard on the glass. He was smiling with big eyes and was indeed waving his hand, beckoning them. The taller wizard strode to the door, and Harry followed suit. The sign on the door was flipped and read closed, but it was unlocked. The shop smelled the same as it did the first time Harry stepped into it when he was first introduced to the wizarding world.

“Yes! Yes! Quite peculiar.” The wandmaker gazed at Harry like he was some strange creature.

“I hope you don’t mind Harry, but I took the liberty to inform your predicament to Ollivander here. He of course has sworn himself to secrecy.” The excited man nodded his head quickly.

“Oh yes. My lips are sealed!” He made the very muggle expression of zipping one's mouth shut with a zipper. “Now come, come.” He waved Harry over. Dumbledore lightly pushed him towards the desk. “It’s not every day I get to help the same wizard find a new wand! Not like this! Never in all my years...” He seemed to lose himself in thought. Dumbledore gave Harry an exasperated look before clearing his throat. “AH! Yes. Quite right. Now where to start…”

“11 inches, holly with a phoenix feather core.” Harry recited. The wandmaker stared at him with a weird gaze, then it transformed into glee.

“I have just one!” Then he ran to the back of the shop. He was lost in the shelves. Harry and Dumbledore could hear the man going through boxes, throwing some away, and mumbling to himself. “ Aha! Yes. I knew it.” The graying man came back around the other side of the shelves, startling Harry as he was now behind them. He held a familiar looking box. Harry’s heart soared. The box was opened and carefully handed to him. Harry delicately picked up his beloved wand. It was his, and he had the same warm feeling pass through his hand and into his whole body. Euphoria. “Curious…” And Harry had a moment of extreme deja-vu.

“...What's curious?” He asked, not knowing if he wanted to know the answer because of the look on the man's face. The Headmaster leaned in, and Ollivander quietly closed the empty box, staring at the wand.

“It just so happens that you share a brother wand with the Boy-Who-Lived." He stated. "What's even more curious, is that he is prophesized to kill you- Well not you, but the Harry Potter from this world." Harry furrowed his brows and tried to re-play the man's words in his head. That didn't make any sense! Tom wasn't prophecized to kill him, he was-

Harry felt like he had been punched in the face when the words actually sunk in completely.

“What? No. That's-” He looked to Dumbledore, who had a look of understanding on his face. Suddenly things were starting to make more sense, and Harry did not like it. Harry Potter had turned into the Dark Lord? Harry Potter had become Mordancy. Had this been what the hat was trying to tell him? _This was why Dumbledore was so wary of him at first._ “It can’t be true. I’m not-” _He wasn't evil._

“Harry,” Dumbledore spoke calmly. “you are not the Dark Lord. You are yourself.” The Headmaster tried to reassure him, but no words could make him feel better right now. He had become a Dark Lord, one the killed, and that people feared. He killed Tom's father- _he killed Tom's father._

“Does Tom know?” He whispered grabbing onto his sleeves, his knuckles were white and his right hand hurt from where the wood of his wand dug into his flesh. He would hate Harry. He would never smile at him again, whether it be fake or genuine. He killed Tom’s father in this world. He killed so many people, and he was worse than Voldemort.

“No. He may have had an inkling with my line of questioning, but he was distracted by your own title of Boy-Who-Lived. I have no doubts that he will make the connection though. It is not well known that Harry Potter became Mordancy, only three of us are aware. And two of us are standing in front of you.” It did little to ease his growing panic. 

“Who is the third person?” 

“His best friend from childhood. Draco Malfoy.” Harry could have laughed if he hadn’t been too afraid that he may cry instead. _Malfoy?_ Malfoy was his best friend? He hadn’t seen the blonde menace at school at all, he wondered if he had even existed in this world. If he wasn’t at school, then he wasn’t a student. Why would Mordancy befriend a child? Where was he then? “Mr. Malfoy is currently at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.”

“What? Is he okay?” Harry panicked, looking to Dumbledore for answers.

“He is the head healer there, Harry.” The feeling of stones in his stomach lifted a bit.

“You could have led with that, I just almost took a fit.” He sighed a breath of relief. His hands were shaking now, but he released his sleeves trying to force himself to calm down.

“The two of them had a falling out, different world views you understand.” Harry nodded. It was better than him being permanently injured by the Dark Lord and living his life in the hospital.

Malfoy as a healer? He hadn’t really thought of him as the healing type, maybe a ministry worker or some sort of businessman. Harry guessed he hadn’t really gotten to know Malfoy all that much.

“Now that you have your wand, I believe it's time to collect the rest of your supplies?” Harry rolled his wand between his fingers. He had so much to think about, so much to ask… There were things he should probably tell Dumbledore, the voice … But he was afraid. He didn’t want the Headmaster to look at him the way he did when he had first seen Harry. That distrust, the fear. He’d talk to Tom about it first, maybe ask for some advice. Tom was smart, smarter than Harry. He may have a shite personality, but his brain worked perfectly fine. He'd just need to be careful with what he'd say around the other boy.

“Yeah, I’d really like to get out of these robes to be completely honest.” He wrinkled his nose, and Dumbledore patted him on the back. The two waved their goodbyes, and Ollivander watched with interest as they left his shop.

“Yes, very curious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOO!
> 
> So Tom and Harry still have brother wands! I wonder what wand Mordancy has? (other than the elder wand of course).


	12. Harry has some chats

“I’m not a bad person, Professor,” Harry said quietly as they left the shop. Dumbledore turned to him with a startled look.

“Of course not, Harry.” The old man stopped their walking and put his hand gently on Harry’s shoulder. “Look at me, Harry.” And he did. The twelve-year-old changed his fixed gaze from his feet on the cobblestone road, to the bright blue eyes. “You are not Mordancy, and even for the short amount of time spent with you, I can tell you right now that you are far from who he was when he was in school. I taught him, I knew his parents .” Harry inhaled loudly. How could he have not thought about them? Was there a version of his parents not too far from where he was now? Would they want to meet him too? 

“Sir...do you think it would be possible for me to meet them?” He asked hopefully. He was granted a sad look, the hand on his shoulder gave him a squeeze then left his body. 

“I’m afraid not, Harry. The Potter’s suffered a tragedy years ago,” Harry’s heart dropped. The old man sighed, he seemed aged once again. “Neither of them made it. I’m sorry, Harry.” The teen wanted badly to ask the question that hung on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t think he could deal with the answer. Was it Him? Had He killed his own parents? “It is best not to dwell, my boy.” Harry looked back to the ground and nodded slightly. His shoulder was patted again, then he was turned slightly. They made their way to Madam Malkin’s, and Harry stood on a pedestal while being measured. With the money from the fund at Hogwarts, he was able to get two sets of robes, plus the set he already had. They weren’t the best quality, but Harry had already gotten used to the itchy fabric during his first year. After this, Harry was brought to Flourish and Blotts to get some second-hand books for his classes. He hadn’t been asked to pay for his wand, a gift from Ollivander, so he had leftover funds to get some nicer quills. There had been a set of four that caught his eye, the feathers each a deep color of the Hogwarts houses. 

The whole shopping experience lasted a little less than two hours, the majority of it standing still while his scrawny limbs were calculated. Harry hadn’t filled out much, not like the other boys. He’d hope that maybe his knees wouldn’t stay so knobbly after eating so well at Hogwarts, but he’d lost any weight gained from his first year the couple months back at the Dursley’s. He swore he must have grown upwards at least a couple centimetres, but other than that, Harry could very well be the same weight as when he got his first Hogwarts letter. It was a tad humiliating. After making sure all his newly acquired items were secure, in his new (used) trunk, Dumbledore shrunk it and Harry placed it into his pocket. The Headmaster held his arm out, this time Harry was hesitant, however, because he knew how it was going to feel. Taking a deep breath in, he placed his hand on the sleeve for the second time. The feeling of side-apparating hadn’t changed one bit with the knowledge, it may have been worse in his opinion. The landing was just as difficult, and once again Dumbledore kept him from falling over completely.

“I really don’t like apparition, Sir,” Harry mumbled, his eyes had been shut tightly and he opened them slowly.

“Side-along apparition is indeed uncomfortable, but I assure you, Harry, learning to apparate by yourself is freeing and much more tolerable.” He was given a wink, and Harry shook his head. 

“I think I had enough apparition for a while, Sir.”

“As that may be,” Dumbledore tilted his head and looked down to Harry from the top of his glasses. “When the time comes, you will be offered the joyous opportunity to learn. A simple twelve-week course, optional naturally.” Casting a quaint tempus, the Headmaster nodded to himself. “Defense Against the Dark Arts has started already, but I’m sure your classmates would be happy to see your return.”

“Yes Sir. Thank you- For everything.” Harry stumbled over his words.

“Run along, Harry. Don’t forget to drop off your trunk before class.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He said again and then left towards the Gryffindor tower. He was excited to change into a new set of robes, and also wear his own underwear… He had borrowed a clean pair from Neville before bed last night. Wearing someone else's clothes than his own or Dudley’s was uncomfortable. [1]

\----------------------------------

The Dark Lord was on edge the entire morning after last night's events. At any moment the link could work up again, and Mordancy wanted to be ready. He had a feeling that he could learn to control it somehow, as the other seemed to be able to close it off. He had never been the best at the mind arts, he used protection runes to secure his mind against spells. Apparently, they did not work for soul magic, however. Death had explained to him that yes, the boy technically was a Horcrux, but it worked the other way around as well. They were essentially two hundred percent of a soul split into two bodies, meaning that they were tied together, and tethered one another to the world of the living. 

They were both immortal as long as the other lived, and currently, neither could be killed permanently. 

“This is a problem. ” He stated aloud. Death was always listening. “There must be a way to sever the connection.”

“ There is… ” The raspy voice rang out. It sounded as if it came from under his bed.

“Tell me,” Mordancy demanded, standing from his seated position on the end of his bed. He faced the piece of furniture, crossing his arms.

“ There are only two ways, I doubt you will like either. ”

“I find myself not liking anything these days.”

“ Tell me, Master. How does one destroy a soul? ” A scowl crossed the raven-haired man's face, and he scrunched his nose up. Souls were incredibly durable, they usually aren't tangible. Soul magic itself was sparse in use and knowledge. As far as he knew, even creating Horcruxes and splitting the soul did only that, split it. The soul wasn’t destroyed, merely broken. You could not force someone to make a Horcrux either, it wouldn’t kill the being if a large portion was missing. He had seen shards of the soul before, they lay just on the cusp of life and death. Limbo. Awaiting the return of the rest of the soul, so that it may reconnect itself and move on. Whether that was reincarnation, final resting, or floating in purgatory was up to the fates. There was only one way he knew of, that would cease the soul from being able to move to another plane.

“A kiss from a Dementor,” He uttered. It was truly a fate worse than death. 

Dementors were cloaked beasts that were bred in the afterlife, by Death himself many eons ago. They had originally been planned to use as reapers, to fetch souls that had wandered and brought them to their final place. Something went wrong, however, and the dementors became greedy. They abandoned their posts, and collectively fed off of as many humans as possible. They learned to breed, to swarm. They ate souls without regard, souls that weren’t ready to pass yet. When doing that, the soul has no place in the afterlife. As soon as a soul prematurely leaves the body and into the maw of Death’s spawn, there is no coming back. 

“ There is a catch, however… ” The shadowed creature rose from the bed, coming out through the middle of the mattress. He wasn’t bound to the laws of nature. The sheets hardened and froze from his touch. 

“Of course there is. There always is,” the Dark Lord whispered. He licked his lips, trying to warm them. “What would happen, should I attempt to feed the child to the Dementor's?”

“ Because of his own status as my master, his soul will remain trapped in limbo. Because your body will still be here, he will have access to it. He would be able to attach himself to you. ” 

“Then this is a complete waste of time.”

“ This would only happen, should you both remain the Master of Death… ” The gears began to turn in Mordancy’s head. The two of them shared the title because they shared a soul. The Master of Death could not be destroyed by Dementors as long as they kept that title. Therefore, as long as Mordancy was the Master of Death, the other could not be severed from him. Death was telling him that to break the bond, to destroy this wayward soul piece, that he would need to give up his title. 

The gleaming problem with this plan was that Mordancy would be unable to complete his task without being the Master of Death. It made this direction unfeasible.

“You said there were two ways.” The dark figure regarded him quietly, watching him as he watched it. Its bony hand rose from underneath the cloak, and it interlaced its own fingers.

“ The only other way to sever the bond is to combine the two beings into one. Effectively removing the bond, as there will only be one entity left. ” Mordancy closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose deeply.

“That would merge us into a new being.”

“ Yes… and no.” The Dark Lord opened his eyes, holding his breath. “ You would retain your magic ability, and memories. Alas, I cannot say for sure how his own might affect you, and to what extent in the end… Those are the only two ways to sever the link between you two. ” Finally allowing himself to breathe out, mordancy whipped his wand out and pointed it at the being.

“ Avada Kedavra! ” The green spell flew right through the being, Death didn’t flinch. “ Reducto! ” The mattress that lay on the bed, imploded on itself. The sheets disintegrated, pieces of the pillows shot out to the sides. The bed frame collapsed, creating a harsh sound of cracked wood that reverberated through the room. Mordancy screamed, then pulled roughly at his own hair. His wand started to vibrate, reacting to its master losing his composure.

“ Why! ? Why does this always happen?” He howled. Death stood still, amidst the carnage, watching the grown wizard. His face took on a splotchy red hue, giving him more color than he had in months. He roared and began to throw spells without regard in every direction. He smashed the boudoir, splinters of wood embedding themselves into anything with give. The walls shook as he threw a Bombarda. They stood strong against the blast, thanks to the runes that encompassed the room. With the room in ruin, the Dark Lord began to scratch at his own skin. Creating red rivets that led from his hand and towards his wrist. The wand clattered to the floor as he started to shred his inner arm with his uncut fingernails.

\----------------------------------

“Harry!” A voice shouted in his ear, it was all too bright, too loud. He had been in the halls, Defense had just ended and it was time for lunch. Tom had begun talking about how idiotic Professor Lockhart was when he had felt a fire erupt in his stomach. All he could feel was rage. He had started to yell incoherently, needing to hit something, to hurt someone. Tom and Neville had tried to approach him, but Harry screamed at them to leave him alone. He backed himself up into a corner, pulling on his hair. 

The outburst had gathered an audience, and a circle of students started to watch the scene. It was all too much, it was too hot. His skin felt like it was too tight. Before he knew it, he was scratching violently at his wrist. The twelve-year-old tried his hardest to get his short fingernails to take as much skin as they could and rip it away. He was drawing blood, and suddenly a pair of hands latched onto his wrists and tugged his hand away from their assault. 

“Harry, stop!” Tom yelled. Harry fought against the grip, thrashing around. He had ended up sitting on the ground, backed into a corner as far as his spine would allow him. Tom’s hands were cold against his fevered skin, and he was pulled forward into the other boy. Tom wrapped his arms tightly around Harry, trapping the boy against his own chest. With this position, he was able to grab only one of Harry’s hands while the other began to claw at him. Tom fell back onto his butt, unable to keep his kneeled position with both their weights. He held Harry tightly and started whispering calmly in parseltongue.

“You’re OK, Harry. You’re OK.” He hissed quietly. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” Harry flinched and tried to pull away violently, but Tom held on for his dear life. He continued his barrage of comforting words. “Just breathe. You’re safe here.” The boy began to calm slightly, no longer pushing against Tom, instead, he seemed to be grasping at his robes. 

“Nononono-” Harry sobbed. Tom released his wrist and placed his free hand into the black curly locks. He pulled Harry closer to him, his chin resting on the top of his head.

“Just keep breathing,” the teen whispered as he started to rub Harry’s back. He could hear people talking, some asking what was happening. Harry’s body was so warm, it felt like his forehead was burning against his neck. Neville had left at some point and Professor McGonagall flew around the corner with him in tow, pushing her way through the crowd.

“Out of the way!” From the other side of the corridor Headmaster, Dumbledore was equally rushed. His face was deadly serious, and students parted for him quickly. 

“Go on- get.” He waved his hand at the children, he took one took at the two children on the floor and placed his hand on Minerva’s shoulder. He whispered into it, and she nodded curtly. She immediately began to disperse the crowds.

“All right, that’s enough. I will take points away from all of you. Off to lunch.” Some students began to actually run away, while others needed to be pulled by friends or gently pushed by McGonagall. Harry had quieted down, but he clung to Tom with a ferocity that would leave bruises through his robes. 

\----------------------------------

The Dark Lord laid on the floor, encompassed by a warmth that was all too pleasant. He could feel phantom hands in his hair, on his shoulder blades and he swore he could hear someone else's heartbeat. His own heart had slowed down, and he was breathing normally again. His wrist throbbed in time with his pulse, and he felt shame wash through his body. 

“Are you here, Master?” Death inquired, roaming towards the wizard. He was granted a single grunt. The floating figure inched forward, its cloaked head tilted. “It has been a while since your last… episode. I was wondering when you would break down.” But the Dark Lord stopped listening, and instead followed the feeling of warmth. It was like a lovely little trail in his head, shining a brilliant yellow against black.

“This feels nice.” Came the child's voice. He was talking about being held, and Mordancy had to agree. A jolt of surprise turned the link more green than yellow. “Oh.. hello. You’re back.”

“You are the one who left…”

“Was I?” He asked. The link shifted back to golden. “I know who you are,” Harry said, a little more confident.

“Do you?”

“You’re the Dark Lord.”

“Yes.” Mordancy agreed. The link sparked to an almost orange, and guilt filtered through.

“I’m you,” The teen uttered in a hushed tone. He sounded despaired. Mordancy doubted the boy was much like him. He had become what he was through several traumatic events that led him down his path, the chances that the same experiences happened was astronomically improbable.

“You are not… Not in that sense at least.” The link calmed to peach color, and Harry was sending impressions of curiosity mixed with hesitation.

“I- What happened earlier? That **was** you, right?”

“My emotions got the better of me.” The Dark Lord answered in a clipped tone.

“You could say that again, ” Harry quipped back. The link buzzed a greenish color, and Mordancy knew instinctively that the boy was mocking him. He glared and sent his displeasure through the link. It bounced from green to a vibrant red. “OW-What the hell?! Don’t do that!” It was Mordancy’s turn to be curious. 

“Do what, Harry?” The other side was quiet for a moment, the teen unsure.

“I got shocked.” He finally responded. The link floated hesitantly, Harry’s regret changing the red hue to a pink. The Dark Lord knew immediately that yes, there could be control over the link. His spike of triumph must have bled through, as Harry’s side became nervous.

“Don’t upset me, and I won’t have to use it.” Was all he said. It was good to have some sort of power over the boy. If he could not dispose of him, the next best thing would be to control him. To keep him close, and unaware. As long as Death never introduced itself to the boy, he could go oblivious to his own title. The only problem was getting Harry away from Hogwarts. No doubt Dumbledore would have recognized him, he wouldn’t allow the boy to leave. There was a way to use Death, as the being had its own way to apparate. Yet there was no way for him to know that it would be safe. The boy seemed to react the same way towards the entity as others. He was unsure if it would harm him, even Mordancy refused to travel with Death. It was usually a gamble. 

There was also the plan to get the book from the Room of Requirements, he could use it to grab them both. A well-timed portkey, hidden by runes, would make it through the gates and transport both of his desired objects to him. There wouldn't be much of a plan change, other than the student who was chosen being sure to get Harry to activate the portkey in their place.

“Go eat lunch, Harry. I can feel your hunger.” Then he imagined a door to the link and shut it. It apparently worked, as the color and impression left immediately.

He had a student to choose, and a portkey to finish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY DUDES! I realized I messed dates up. I went back to fix them in the last two chapters. It is Friday in the fic, not Saturday like Tom implied the day before.
> 
> [1] Shout out to my other fic where Harry is wearing Voldies clothes


	13. Tom & Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The link shut, and Harry was disorientated. He had been in his head, and only now remembered that he was on the floor being cradled by Tom. He had to admit it felt kind of nice, comforting. A fluttering surprised him, in wake of the strange link with the other, now there sat a pool of warmth. _It felt like home_.

The Gryffindor opened his bleary eyes and eased up on his grip. The joints in his hands screamed in protest as he released them from Toms’ robes. He couldn’t see, even with his glasses. His vision was blurry, he must have been crying.

Tom’s body went rigid as Harry tried to shift away. Tom held onto him, however, keeping him in place. The hand on his head and fingers in his hair not letting up. Harry doubted it was worry that plagued Tom, it was far more likely that the other was afraid he’d freak out again.

“Madam Pomfrey could surely spare a calming draught.” Came McGonagall’s voice somewhere to his right. Harry ignored her in favor of adjusting his arm so he could use his sleeve to wipe at his damp face. Before he could complete his small task, Tom let go of his head to grab onto his arm.

“ _Don’t do that,_ ” He whispered, sounding exasperated. “ _There's blood on your sleeve. You’ll just make your face all bloody, you idiot_.” He ended, holding onto Harry with an iron grasp. Harry had forgotten about the blood, but even so, he’d rather be able to see than to be clean. 

“ _Maybe I like it that way, you tosser_.” Harry shot back petulantly, he didn’t try to pull his arm from the other boy’s clutch. He felt Tom’s body relax a bit against his as a puff of air tickled his face. The hand clutching onto his arm released him, only to maneuver its way to a different position. To his surprise, Tom reached up and used his one clean sleeve to clean his face. It was touching, and extremely embarrassing. 

Harry’s entire body temperature was raised by what seemed to be one hundred degrees.

He blamed it on the friction.

“ _You don’t need to do that-_ ” He tried, starting to lean away from the giant black blob that was Tom’s ascending arm.

“ _Well obviously someone needs to watch after you,_ ” Tom stated matter-of-factly before taking off Harry’s glasses so he could try to wipe at his eyes. “ _Because clearly, you can’t seem to do it yourself._ ” Harry had never felt more insulted _and also cared for_ , in his life. Who knew Tom was a mother hen? 

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry had completely forgotten that the man was there.

“Harry, my boy.” The Headmaster spoke gently, it felt like he was afraid he’d set Harry off. “It would seem you are lucid once again.” He suggested, observing both boys in the corridor. Harry somehow felt even more embarrassment creep over his shoulders and into his cheeks. He quickly sat up straight, pushing himself from Tom. Tom didn’t seem all too happy with the action, but he allowed the Gryffindor to go anyway.

Harry tried his best to get back to his feet without toppling over, the strange adrenaline that had coursed through his body had left him shaky, unstable even. Tom followed suit, he was much more steady in his actions. Harry held his hand out to Tom and was granted his glasses back.

Harry adjusted his glasses and once he had his vision back he looked up to meet Dumbledore’s eyes. The man was giving him a look of pity, but behind the expression, there was also undoubtedly a desire to know _what in the hell was going on._

“I’m sorry, sir,” he began. Harry looked down to his sleeve, where he could feel the self-inflicted wounds pulse beneath it. “I’m not sure what happened.” He explained, only half lying. Of course, he knew that he had acted out because of Mordancy, but he still wasn’t sure _why_ it was happening.

“I think it was a panic attack, sir.” Riddle’s voice started, causing Harry to look over to him. The Slytherin was gazing at him with a watchful eye, his gaze sharpened so slightly that Harry almost missed it altogether. His entire psyche was screaming at him, don’t tell Dumbledore anything. 

_‘Tell me, and only me.’_

Harry conceded to the unspoken request.

“Yes… I think that's what it was.” He agreed before turning his attention back to Dumbledore. “I haven’t had one in so long, it scared me.” The boy sheepishly scratched at his head and gave a small lopsided smile. “I’ll be okay, though. No need to worry about me.”

“I’m afraid after an episode like that, I have only the utmost concern for you, Harry.” Dumbledore countered, his eyebrows rising across his forehead. He looked over the top of his spectacles, and Harry dropped his gaze.

Something in the back of his head warned him about those eyes. 

“I apologize, I’ll try not to let it happen again.” He promised, suddenly feeling a wave of guilt, _or perhaps it was a shame,_ pooling in his gut.

“Harry my boy,” The Headmaster stepped forward and placed a comforting hand onto his shoulder, Tom visibly recoiled when the man got too close. “You needn’t beat yourself up over it. No one is blaming you for anything.” The old man tilted his head, Harry could feel the eyes taking him in. “Now, let’s get you to the infirmary before you collapse on us.”

Before Harry could protest, Tom's hand shot out and latched onto his upper arm. Steadying him, but also keeping him in place. Harry was too tired to care, _he did feel like he may faint at any given moment._ His body was coming down from its adrenaline high, and his bones were starting to ache.

“I can take him, _sir_.” Tom offered, his grip tightening. The air was tense and Harry quickly became aware of the strange staring contest between the two wizards. It was uncomfortable to say in the least, and Harry didn’t have time for it. 

He leaned into Tom and away from Dumbledore, putting most of his body weight against the taller boy. Tom’s grip changed from securing him to supporting his entire body. There was a clear winner.

“Off you two go then,” Albus instructed, stepping out of the way and releasing Harry’s shoulder as Tom began to pull Harry. He placed Harry’s arm around his neck, making it easier to walk together. “Straight to Madam Pomfrey, no dillydallying.” The old man warned behind them, his eyes watching the two, calculating once again.

Only after making it down the hall and around a corner did either boy dare to speak.

“ _What the hell was that, Harry_?” Tom whispered, sounding a tad furious.

“Not now,” The Gryffindor pleaded. “I’m seriously crashing.” This elicited a grumble, and Tom switched back to English.

“You’d better not vomit on me, or I _will_ drop you.” The other boy threatened. Tom was probably being serious. Still, Harry had half a mind to start making gagging noises. He could cheese it so badly that it’d make Tom wish he’d never brought it up.

Tom really would drop him then, however, and Harry wasn’t too keen on being left alone in the corridor. 

The rest of the walk was silent after that, Tom not willing to make small talk, and Harry on the verge of passing out at any moment's notice. As they approached the infirmary, Tom grunted loudly.

“You’re heavy, you know that?” He asked while reaching out to open the door to the hospital wing. He was practically dragging Harry now.

“ _I think you’re possibly the only person who has said that to me, ever._ ” Harry hissed, the parseltongue slipping out. He supposed it was easier than having to articulate in English.

“ _That’s not surprising in the least, Harry. Considering how small you are…_ ” Tom hissed back, his voice laced with a knowing tone. The smaller boy felt his face heat up, he really didn’t want to think about his nutritional problems right now. Before he could counter-argue, Madam Pomfrey’s voice pierced throughout the empty infirmary.

“Oh, you poor dear!” The woman rounded a bed and flew towards both boys, the look of concern etched on her face. She took one look at Harry, and just by her reaction he could tell he was looking quite terrible. 

“Just here,” She took Harry’s other side and shuffled them towards the left where a bed lay ready. “Yes, that's good. Nice and easy now.” She spoke softly, helping Harry sit. 

Harry had always secretly liked being fussed over.

* * *

The moment Harry was settled Tom hastily retreated, making sure to stay out of the medic-witches way as she began to check over Harry head-to-toe. She checked for a fever and asked loudly. Tom could have told her that Harry had been running hot since the incident.

The woman then went and took Harry’s robe off, revealing the white button-down. Tom was sure he should feel out of place, but he felt no shame or embarrassment watching as Harry was undressed. He stayed quiet, wanting to observe. 

Harry’s complexion was looking eerily similar to the color of his shirt, well most of it anyway. Along the sleeve were splotches of red, a stark contrast. 

Even though the damage that was done was minimal, the fact that it had happened at all sent an uncomfortable shiver down Tom’s spine. It left a bad taste in the back of his mouth.

“I’ve got it from here, you may go. Don’t want to miss class.” Pomfrey stated as she turned around and motioned to the door. It took Tom a moment to register that she had been talking to him. 

“Ma’am, with all due respect-”

“I’ll make sure your friend here is all well, there’s no need to worry.” She said with absolute in her voice, her face was as stern as her words. Tom hadn’t yet figured out how she ticked, she was one of the adults that treated every student the same. Perhaps if he-

“Wait,” Harry’s hand came into view as it latched onto Pomfrey’s arm. The green eyes looked up at the witch and Tom witnessed the other boy play her like a fiddle. Harry almost pouted, his eyebrows furrowed in a way that made him come across as frightened and unsure. “Can he stay, please?” The Gryffindor let his eye flicker over to Toms, and Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

Madam Pomfrey hesitated, but Harry didn’t give her enough time to think about it.

“Tom’s my friend and I’ll feel better if he’s here.” He whispered. “I don’t want to be alone.” was said as he tugged gently on her cotton sleeve.

Tom could see Pomfrey’s resolve melt a bit through the lines of her posture. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she reached out to hold Harry’s hand.

“Alright, if that’s what you wish dear.” She turned to look at Tom and held a finger up. “There will be no-nonsense.” Tom nodded, only to catch a brief look at Harry over her shoulder, his face had morphed into a haughty smile. He was _gloating_. The second Pomfrey turned to face Harry, the curly-haired menace had schooled his expression and was looking up at her like a pathetic animal once again.

Tom wouldn't admit aloud that he was impressed. _Not even a little bit._

* * *

The rest of the checkup was quite boring. Harry was restless and wanted to talk to Tom about what had happened. On the other hand, he wanted to stay silent. He was conflicted because spilling the metaphorical beans meant that Tom was more likely to connect all the dots and curse him where he currently lay. If he didn’t talk to Tom about it, the other would never leave him alone.

It was a tough decision, and Harry wished dearly that he had Hermione to help with outweighing the pros and cons of the situation.

All Harry could think of was the cons.

Either way, Tom was going to find out eventually. Dumbledore had said something along those lines, and Harry was sure of it as well. He was probably better off telling Tom himself. That way it wouldn't seem like Harry was trying to keep him out of the loop or lie to him. Harry knew what it felt like to be kept on the outside of things. 

He didn’t know what possessed him to go to Tom before Dumbledore, but something about the Headmaster in this world made Harry feel strange. It was like walking on eggshells. He felt like if he said the wrong thing, Dumbledore may lock him up, throw him in jail and seal the key away.

With his decision made, Harry just needed the confidence to begin the actual conversation. Where was his courage when he needed it most?

The raven-haired boy looked down at his hands and found himself picking at his skin again. He turned his gaze to Tom, who had been sitting quietly at his bedside the entire time.

“I _’m going to start slapping your hands when you do that, Harry._ ” Tom threatened, his brown eyes trained on Harry's hands. They had gone back to Parseltongue shortly after Madam Pomfrey finished her check-up. She had flinched the first couple of times she caught them speaking the snake's tongue, but only shot concerned glances now and again.

Harry was sure that Dumbledore would be hearing about it shortly. 

“ _It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose, it just happens._ ”

“ _A nervous tick._ ”

“ _Yeah-_ ”

“ _What is it that's bothering you?_ ” Harry had half a mind to say something about not liking hospitals, so he could be a coward and hide behind those words. A bubble in his throat refused to let him, however. 

Harry cleared his throat, glancing back to his hands.

“ _I have to tell you something,_ ” He started, and Tom was immediately at his side. Closer than what one could say was appropriate. His brown eyes sparkled with the promise of new information. Harry swallowed the invisible lump, refusing to back down now. “It _has to do with the… fit._ ” He explained, quickly adding, _“Also, the outburst at the library._ ” 

The Slytherin was literally on the edge of his seat, his anticipation seeping through his every pore. Brown eyes searched his own. It was now or never.

“ _I’m the counterpart to Mordancy._ ” He hissed slowly, making sure to keep himself from shying away from Tom. He wasn’t immediately cursed, instead, Tom’s face only shifted slightly as his eyes narrowed.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“ _I said-_ ”

“ _No,_ ” Tom held his hand up.“ _I heard you the first time. I just need you to elaborate._ ” His voice was low, and Harry realized that Tom was acting the same as when they first met. There was only the cold shell of Tom, he was wearing his mask again.

“ _Oh_ .” Harry breathed out. He had to stop his mouth from saying something stupid like, 'Yeah, I’m pretty much Mordancy.'

“ _Well…_ ” He began, wondering how to word it in a way that made sense. “ _Headmaster Dumbledore said I world-hopped,_ ” At this, Tom nodded stiffly. “ _There was already a Harry Potter in this world before I got here, though. So now there are two._ ” Tom's eyes widened a fraction. “ _Only the other Harry Potter doesn’t go by his birth name anymore. Instead, he goes by-"_

“ _Mordancy._ ” Tom hissed before leaning back into his chair. The older boy looked like he was deep in thought.

“ _Yeah_ .” Harry agreed before biting his lip, he kept his eyes on Tom, but the other made no move to indicate anything hostile. “ _I wasn’t expecting you to be this calm_ ,” he admitted. Tom’s calculating expression changed, and he tilted his head while gazing at Harry. He almost looked slightly offended.

 _“I’ll have you know that I can control myself._ ” Harry laughed loudly, not able to stop himself.

“ _Sometimes._ ” He remarked cheekily. The response to his retort was a glare.

“ _How does this all tie together?_ ” Tom asked, waving his hand to gesture to all of Harry. The raven-haired boy glanced down at his body, only to realize that Tom wasn't actually referring to his physical being.

“ _Oh right!_ ” The Gryffindor sat up so he was straight on the bed. “ _For some reason, Mordancy and I are connected, I can feel what he feels. That time in the library he somehow spoke from my mouth. I don’t think he meant to._ ”

“ _How do you know he didn’t do it on purpose?_ ” Tom questioned with that hungry look in his eyes again. 

“ _Because he was just as confused as me, it works both ways I guess._ ” Harry shrugged, before adding.“ _He was able to control some of it though._ ” At Tom's visible confusion, Harry tried to elaborate. 

“ _The weird connection, the link, can be closed. He was able to do it. I did it too, but mine was by accident. He also was able to- well he could send pain through the link.”_ Harry still wasn’t too sure about this new development, he didn’t think he’d need to worry about it. The bond worked both ways, so he would just have to send it right back. Right?

“ _So he can control you,_ ” Tom stated, crossing his arms and leaning into his chair.

“ _Not like that, Tom_ .” Harry shook his head. “ _He’s not possessing me or anything._ ” His words did little to convince Tom, as the other boy gave him a skeptical look.

 _"It's all happening in your head, correct?_ ”

“ _When he talks, yeah. Although, sometimes I feel this… tickling sensation in my head too? It’s not always when he’s there though._ ”

“ _I wonder if it has to do with your scar_.”

“ _I don’t think so_ ,” Harry frowned, he reached up to rub at the skin across his forehead. “ _I got that from Voldemort, not Mordancy, remember?_ ” Harry was pretty sure he had mentioned that before. Something shifted in the air, and Tom stopped breathing suddenly. His entire body had gone rigid enough that Harry almost reached out to touch him, to make sure he wasn’t frozen.

“ _Tom?_ ”

“ _Do you think it was only a coincidence that you were sent here?_ ” He said suddenly, leaning forward, his eyes looked almost feral as they burned holes into Harry’s. 

“... _What do you mean?_ ” He asked quietly.

“ _You, the Boy-Who-Lived being sent to a place where your older self is the Dark_ _Lord,_ " He began. " _Not only that,_ ” Tom stood now, his one arm placed behind his back and the other rubbing just under his mouth as he paced alongside the bed. “ _But it just so happens that the first person you run into is me, the Boy-Who-Lived from this world._ ”

" _I_ _mean, I was writing in_ ** _your_ **_journal,_ ” Harry muttered, his eyes watching as Tom walked back and forth.

“ _That only adds more questions._ ” Tom waved his hand dismissively. Harry was feeling quite uneasy with the erratic behavior. “ _You said it had something to do with the Chamber of Secrets right?_ ” At Harry’s nod, Tom’s frown deepened. “ _That would mean the Tom in your world knew something about the Chamber._ ” His pacing stopped, and he turned to Harry. “ _Did you know my other self?_ ” 

“ _No, actually. I’d never even heard of you until the diary._ ” Harry was sure of it. He’d have remembered someone like Tom.

“ _Well… not by my birth name._ ” The brunette offered cryptically, the words giving him a serious case of deja vu. Harry hesitated, he was really sick of having to ask questions to get people to elaborate.

“... _What’s that supposed to mean?_ ” The Gryffindor inquired suspiciously. 

“ _Think Harry. What was the reason your name meant nothing to me?_ ” Tom answered his question with a question of his own. Harry rolled his eyes. He should have known he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

“ _Well, that’s because Mordancy stopped using his birth name before he-_ ” For the second time, Harry felt like realization took a physical blow to him. Harry reached up to his hair and grabbed it, he could feel his eyes go bigger than the frames of his glasses. 

_”Merlin’s beard- You’re bloody Voldemort!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need more Mordancy in my life.
> 
> Today was my only day off so I'm doing what I can! I tried to edit it while I wrote it, but there are probably errors because I'm a mad lad. (It keeps adding spaces in weird spots, I don't know man. Seems sus to me.)
> 
> <3


	14. Little Lords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> I don't have a beta, so this might have inconsistencies and errors. Please forgive me. (Just kidding, fight me)

“That’s the conclusion I reached as well.” The other simply nodded as he leaned back into his chair. His frame was relaxed, and Harry’s eyes followed him in disbelief. This was Voldemort before Voldemort? A young Dark Lord sitting as if he owned the infirmary. Complete with his nose, hair, and not a trace of anger behind those brown eyes to be seen.

“How are you so calm about this?” Harry hissed, glaring at Tom. It felt like Harry was once again at the butt of the joke and in the dark. Tom shrugged slightly before tilting his head.

“I could have a meltdown like you, I suppose.” He stated as he once again got comfortable in his chair. “But I doubt that would help the situation in any way. Blowing up for no reason? I’ll leave it to you, you’re very good at it actually-” Harry decided to ignore the backhanded compliment.

“You killed my parents!” He exclaimed, shaking his head. It was a bad move, it made him dizzy once again. Tom raised an eyebrow at him.

Harry would be lying to say he wasn’t disappointed with Tom's lack of usual ire. He decided that he hated when the Slytherin was leveled headed like this. It made Harry uneasy because that could only mean that Tom was in the know, or had already planned out his next move. When he was upset or angry, that meant that his plans hadn’t gone accordingly. It made Harry feel, with shame, a sense of relief. 

“And you killed mine, seems like we’re even,” Tom affirmed, looking almost bored now. Harry opened his mouth to retort, but the words wouldn't form. He did this a couple of times, but each word he wanted to say felt wrong on his tongue before it could leave his throat.

It wasn’t as if he could dispute what Tom had said, because he was right. They were in the same boat. Yet Harry seemed to be the only one reacting to their boat sinking. Or maybe his boat had sunk a long time ago, and now he was drowning. He wasn’t sure anymore, Harry wasn’t sure of much at all.

He gazed at Tom, really looking at him this time. 

Tom stared right back at him, unflinching. Harry wondered if Tom felt that same spike of anxiety and embarrassment when someone stared at him. He wanted to ask. Maybe Tom was just like him but was much better at hiding it. No one really liked to be stared at, right?

Tom gave no indication of being uncomfortable, nor did he seem to thrive off of the unexpected spotlight of Harry’s sole attention. He simply seemed to exist at that moment. 

Harry’s fingers itched to reach out to see if his body was still corporeal.

What was wrong with him?

* * *

Tom had to admit that he hadn’t planned on eliciting a reaction like this from Harry. He was merely stating the facts, that he and Tom were the same coin, different sides.

Apparently, Harry’s brain melted. A short circuit in his wiring, the paths blocked by Tom’s words.

The boy on the bed was looking at his face so intently. Tom felt he could do nothing but return the gesture. Harry seemed to map out his features. One could almost say this was an intimate moment, but it was just odd instead. 

Tom had been stared at a lot in his life, a given because of his status, and also his looks, but this was a different kind of stare. There was no intent behind the green eyes across from him, no hidden motive, nor was there carefully concealed disdain. 

If not for the very sudden twitching of Harry’s hand, this moment could have gone on.

A cold feeling of dread filled Tom’s bones, and before he knew what was happening he had his wand out. He was standing now, pointing the end towards Harry as if he were some sort of dangerous animal.

Harry’s eyes grew two sizes too big, and his attention was now completely on Tom’s wand.

“What the hell, Tom?” The younger boy whispered, no longer in parseltongue. 

Tom was saying the same thing to himself.

He had acted without thinking, on impulse, in a moment he believed he had been in danger. The Slytherin gazed back at Harry's hand, the one that had the audacity to make him react the way he did. The offending appendage curled slightly, gripping onto the white blanket. 

Tom had overreacted.

He had believed, for a split second, that Harry was going to react violently once out of his stupor. A miscalculation on Tom’s part. Harry didn’t even have his wand after all. 

Tom refused to feel embarrassed about it.

He had predetermined an attack on his person, it was just in his opinion of course. Harry was quite the wildcard, unpredictable, and still an unknown piece of the puzzle. Tom couldn't be blamed for assuming, anyone might have done the same.

Tom lowered his wand, and green eyes followed fearfully. The fear however was replaced quickly with confusion, and Harry’s eyebrows furrowed intensely.

“That was... weird.” The Gryffindor hissed carefully, his eyes darting from Tom to his wand still in hand. Harry looked uncertain, and Tom had no idea on how to spin this in his favor. He was supposed to be getting along with Harry. They were meant to be friends, and Tom may have ruined his chances. No one liked having a wand pointed at them like that.

Tom meticulously placed his wand back into his sleeve, stalling for the correct words. 

Harry beat him to it.

“Are you alright Tom?” The boy whispered, his green eyes now staring at him in a way that he was familiar with. Harry’s expression had shed its harsh lines and instead left concern in its wake. 

That stupid, idiotic, fantastically compassionate boy had just given Tom an outing.

He just needed to play his hand right.

Tom nodded solemnly, choosing to take his seat once again. It was the right move, as Harry visibly relaxed once he was back in a less intimidating stance. Tom opened his mouth, forcing himself to hesitate. Harry leaned forward slightly, and he knew his plan was most likely going to work.

“I apologize,” He began, taking in a breath carefully. “You must understand how on edge I feel, being the chosen one and all.” Harry’s eyes widened a little, taking in the words. Tom only continued after Harry gave a small nod. “Being stared at is-” He paused for dramatics, making it look like he was struggling for the right words. Harry was listening intently. “I find it unnerving, and I felt threatened.” He hissed quietly, like a secret. 

“You got all quiet, and I thought-” The guilt etched its way onto Harry’s pale features. His small frown grew.

“I wouldn't- I’m so sorry!” Hary rushed out. He looked absolutely pitiful. “I didn’t mean to scare you. That wasn’t- I would never have attacked you, Tom.” He stated, sounding extremely earnest. He opened his mouth, but Tom wasn’t in the mood to hear continuous apologies. Just the one was enough.

“It’s alright, I accept your apology. Let’s just forget about it.” He offered, giving Harry a smile that he hoped resembled Longbottom’s. Small, yet uncertain.

Harry’s own smile was his response, but Tom knew. Harry would feel guilty about this ordeal for a while.

And Tom would be there to milk it for all it’s worth.

* * *

Harry’s stomach hurt.

It was the kind of stomach pain that came from anxiety. Someone could tell him that he’d accidentally swallowed a boulder and he’d believe them. 

He felt awful.

Harry knew exactly what it felt like, to be so on edge that everything was potentially harmful. He thought like that a lot growing up. He never knew if a touch was going to be good or not. As a child going into school for the first time, the teachers were concerned about his inability to distinguish when he was being hurt and when he was simply being touched. 

Of course, after a while, it wasn’t a concern, with something his aunt or uncle must have said. A few honeyed words and they treated him like nothing special. No longer pointing out when he’d flinch, and paying no mind more than necessary. Harry often wondered what they must have said to the school.

The Dursleys must have a plethora of lies that sounded good enough to be true, they were able to placate the school, the neighborhood, and anyone else who made a fuss about him. 

Harry shivered, an action that was absolutely noticed by Tom, and he forced himself to not think about them anymore. He made a deal with his brain to stay away from the Dursley’s as much as he could. He could pretend they didn’t exist as long as he was in Hogwarts.

He supposed he wouldn't need to worry about them in this timeline at all. He wouldn't need to ever see them again if he didn’t go back home-

“Do you want to talk more about all this?” Tom cut in, his words cutting through Harry’s thoughts.

“About what?” Harry asked, looking to Tom for clarification. The other boy had just said to forget about it, did Tom want to talk more about the incident after all?

“About the Voldemort-Mordancy ordeal, Harry.” Tom sighed, sounding exasperated. Harry was glad that Tom seemed to be back to normal, and he was even more grateful that no, Tom didn’t want to talk about Harry and how he was a terrible human.

“Well- what about them do you want to talk about? I guess I could tell you about Voldemort but- wait,” Harry glanced back to Tom, his curiosity getting the better of him. “How did you figure it out?” He asked, crossing his arms. “How the hell did you even guess that you must have been Voldemort in my world? That’s such a huge leap- Why would you even be thinking about it!”

Harry narrowed his eyes, searching Tom again.

Tom smiled, sitting up straight in his chair. 

“My first hint was Dumbledore,” Tom hissed out, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Harry’s face must have betrayed him because Tom clicked his tongue in a way that made Harry feel he was disappointed with Harry for not getting it. Harry wasn’t even sure about what time Dumbledore could even have dropped a hint. Did the old man do it on purpose?

“When you were talking about your world, he was watching me for a reaction,” Tom explained. “He was suspicious of me because of what all had transpired, it was obvious, especially when he was looking for my recognition of Lord Voldemort’s name. The name meant nothing to me of course, but his own interest peaked mine.” The Slytherin Heir looked thoughtful, and Harry shook his head. He was trying to process it all.

“How did Dumbledore-” He started, wanting to know how the man could have made the connection at all, but Tom interrupted him, looking quite irritated.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea as to why he knows what he does sometimes, and I’d rather not try to put myself in his senile brain. It’s infuriating.”

“Ah, got it.” Harry quickly added, not wanting Tom to get upset again. They didn’t need to talk about Dumbledore if Tom didn’t want to. Instead, he’d rather know what else led Tom to his revelation. “What was the second hint?” He asked, eliciting a pleasant smile from Tom. 

“The second hint was your Dark Lord’s name,” Harry felt the need to correct Tom and tell him that Voldemort wasn’t his anything, but the other kept talking. “If you take the letters that spell Lord Voldemort and rearrange them, it almost spells my entire name. An anagram.” Tom finished, looking far too smug. Harry felt his mouth open, but he had nothing to say. Instead, he wanted some parchment and a quill so he could write it out and see for himself. 

Tom must have taken his silence as confusion.

“An anagram is when-”

“I know what a bloody anagram is!” Harry snapped, crossing his arms tighter around himself. “What I don’t get is how you ever thought to do that.” He added, aware now that he was starting to sulk. Tom was the opposite, he was so engrossed in showing his own intelligence, that Harry could swear he was vibrating in excitement. Like a kid on Christmas morning, it was cute. Cute, but extremely aggravating.

“I’ve always loved puzzles, Harry.” He stated, his brown eyes glued to Harry. The raven-haired boy chose to ignore that statement.

“So, what? You just go around and think about what different anagrams for things are all day?” He asked, purposefully being annoying now. Tom, however, only seemed to want to keep talking. About himself of course.

“Some words are special, especially titles,” He paused. “Although I quite like anagrams I never thought of doing it with my own name. It was usually singular words and ones that have strange connections. Did you know that an anagram for ‘Astronomer’ is ‘Moon starer’?”

“Wait- That's actually… pretty neat,” Harry admitted.

“It could all be coincidences of course, but some were purposely made. They can be traced back to Ancient Greek, and even Biblical times. Some philosophers believed anagrams could reveal some of the world's greatest mysteries and meanings. Even Shakespeare used anagrams to hide within his countless plays.” He added casually, and Harry tried to wrap his head around it. Tom knew so much. And it was muggle stuff too.

The Gryffindor shook his head in disbelief.

“I knew you were smart but-” Tom’s egotistical smile grew, his teeth looked sharp, and Harry groaned loudly. He raised his hand to rub at his temple.

“Why Harry, that's so kind of-”

“Oh sod off.” He grumbled, regretting his comment altogether. “I just mean that- You have a lot of knowledge on things I didn’t think you would. Muggle things.” He hissed. Tom stared at him oddly.

“Harry, I was raised by my grandparents,” He pointed out, speaking slowly as one would to a child. ”My Muggle grandparents.” 

“No- Yeah I know that!” Harry felt himself blush. He had forgotten for a moment. Tom held himself in such a way, it was hard to see him as anything except a Pureblood. “You don’t act like it, is what I’m trying to say.” He said it and felt immediate regret. Tom didn’t seem to take offense.

“No, I’m not like the other kids raised by Muggles,” He agreed easily, throwing Harry off. Instead of being upset, Tom appeared content. Harry should have known that getting to talk about himself would keep him in a good mood. “It would be upsetting if I was, considering I got a headstart on the Wizarding world.”

“A head start?” Harry wondered out loud.

“I was raised aware of my role, aware of magic from young.” He explained, giving Harry another weird look. “You were raised as a true Muggleborn, weren't you?”

“Well, I-” Harry had to think for a second. It was true, he was indeed raised similar to Hermione. Not knowing about his destiny, not knowing about the hidden world of magic that he belonged to. Harry had no idea, not until his letter arrived. For Godric's sake, Harry hadn’t even known that his parents had been murdered until he was eleven.

“I was.” He murmured and Tom nodded, Harry confirming his theory.  
“You should have been told.” Tom suddenly declared, and Harry could see the other boy’s jaw clench. Harry pursed his lips, but couldn't ignore how much he agreed with Tom. Their eyes met again and Tom frowned. “It was wrong of them to hide your history from you.” He said low, his fist now balled.

“It was for my own safety.” He croaked out. His voice sounded foreign to him, and the words left a terrible taste along his tongue. It was Harry’s turn to frown. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just agree with Tom aloud. He didn’t understand why he felt the need to defend Dumbledore’s actions.

He couldn’t handle it being for naught. 

There must have been a reasonable justification.

Neither of them believed that for one second.

“There was absolutely no reason for you to be kept in the dark. Not when being aware of the dangers could have helped keep you safe. At the bare minimum, you should have been told of your magical background. You deserved that much.” Tom growled out, and Harry had to look away. 

Tom defending him was making his heart throb painfully against his ribs. He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t want to get angry.

He was so sick of being angry.

“What else made you think you were Voldemort?” Harry tried, still refusing to look at the other. He feared seeing the anger he internalized mirrored on Tom. They sat in silence for another couple of seconds, Harry could hear Tom shift in his seat.

“Your scar.” The Slytherin drawled. Harry reached up to his forehead and gingerly touched the raised skin. “I believe your scar was reacting to me.“

“Was it?” Harry questioned, trying to remember when that could have happened. “It reacted to Voldemort when he was nearby,” Harry explained. “But usually it was painful.”

“It was when I touched your face.” Tom hissed, sounding closer than before. Harry turned back to the other, and Tom was indeed closer now. He was leaning forward in his chair, gazing at Harry’s fringe with a soft look. 

“I- I don’t think I felt that.”

“You were distressed, you probably weren’t paying attention.”

“Oh.”

“We could try it now,” Tom said, his voice low. His eyes stared greedily at Harry, and even though Harry felt like this might be a bad idea, he also wanted to test out their strange connection. If Tom was telling the truth, then Harry might have even more to deal with regarding his brain and its supposed need to connect with everyone all the time.

Would Tom be able to see into his mind as well? What if he and Mordancy tried at the same time? That would surely be an awkward conversation.

Harry looked back to Tom, and the boy tilted his head. Harry was starting to think Tom was like a cat. He was easily startled, had claws (metaphorically of course), and was antisocial until three was something he wanted.

Swallowing his apprehension, Harry nodded. He leaned forward as well, using his hand to lift his fringe, allowing Tom access to his skin. Tom didn’t hesitate. 

The other stood from his seat and reached out towards Harry. The cold hand made contact with Harry’s head, and the reaction wasn’t entirely expected. The spot where Tom’s fingers traced along Harry’s scar left a pleasant warmth, a warmth that pooled on his skin, and seeped into him. It was very much unlike the link with Mordancy, which seemed to come from somewhere inside his head.

Harry found himself leaning more into the touch. He felt so at ease.

“I wonder,” Tom murmured. Harry opened his eyes, not remembering closing them, and looked up to Tom. The other boy was wearing a puzzled expression.

“What does it feel like to you?” Harry lazily asked.

“It - you feel like the sun,” Tom responded before grimacing at his own description. Harry couldn't help the snort that left his body. Tom glared down at him in response but cleared his throat. “What I meant is, where we make contact feels like how it would if you placed your hand in the sunlight.”

“Is that all you feel?” The Gryffindor hissed. Tom looked uncertain for a moment.

“It also-” Tom began, but he stopped. Something flashed behind his brown eyes, and Harry could see the other was struggling with how to put it into words. Emotional constipation must be really annoying to live with.

“Feels like home?” Harry offered. Tom frowned, and Harry sighed before elaborating. “It’s warm for me too, but I also feel like how I do when I see Hogwarts from the train. When I’m standing in the common room, and can finally breathe again. It’s like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“I don’t feel that.” The Slytherin admitted, dropping his hand from its place on Harry’s forehead. The warmth lingered even as his hand pulled away.

“You don’t?” Harry asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“No,” Tom responded in a clipped tone. Defensive.

“Oh, well- That’s alright.” He mumbled stupidly before reaching up to rub at his own scar. He chased the warmth and wished Tom hadn’t pulled away. “What does it feel like for you then?” He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him once again.

Tom clenched his jaw again, and Harry thought he was going to get upset again.

* * *

What did he feel?

It wasn’t hard to explain, not at all. He had examples, he had the words.

But Harry wouldn't like it.

How could someone like hearing that he wanted to utterly own them? That he felt so possessive that he wanted to kill Harry Potter, so he could preserve him in a jar for safekeeping. Hide him away from all prying eyes, remove his skin so no one else could touch it. To scoop out his brains and delve so deep into them that nothing about Harry was a secret.

To own the memories, to live them, and breathe them. To squeeze his bones so hard that they would shatter, and Tom would be the only one who could place them back together, piece by piece. He wanted to remove each and every vein in Harry’s body, then weave them tightly, use them to tie him up.

Take his eyes and pluck them out delicately, only to devour them. Rip his tongue out, sew his mouth shut, so no one else could hear him. Only Tom.

This kind of possession was dangerous. It was disgusting. Tom would lose himself completely if he allowed himself to. He wouldn’t. He couldn't afford to.

What did he feel?

Sick.

He felt sick.

* * *

“I suppose I could say I simply feel pleasant,” Tom stated. “Like when I get all the answers right on a test or outsmart Granger.” Harry couldn't hold back his bark of laughter.

“You could just say it makes you feel happy, Tom.” He shook his head. “Was it really that hard for you?” The older boy scowled at him, and Harry felt his own happiness bubble in his chest. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, what I described was way worse.” Harry scratched at his head, feeling too elated to be truly embarrassed. Tom sniffed haughtily then crossed his arms.

“Yes, it was quite horrid.” He agreed, making Harry scoff loudly. “You getting all soft has to be in the top ten worst moments of my entire life.” This caused Harry to break out into laughter again.

“You’re such a tosser!” Harry shouted, pointing at the other boy trying to hide his smile. 

“Why must you hurt me this way? I thought we had grown closer over all our hardships.” Tom feigned a hurt expression and held his hand over his heart. Harry shook his head and tried to rein in the rogue smile that was starting to hurt his cheeks. He had to cover his mouth for a moment. It felt like it had been forever since he’d really smiled. The kind of smile that made your face ache.

Tom Riddle really did feel like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um sooooooo... We will actually see some more plot next chapter, you'll get to have some time with your favorite Dark Lord. Of course, that includes sassy Death.
> 
> Can any of you guess who the student Mordancy chooses is? If you guess it I'll let you be a student at Hogwarts, I'll write you in! (I can't promise you won't die a terrible death)
> 
> I hope you're all safe, and healthy. Happy holidays <3


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